


Awakening

by anawfulybigadventure



Series: Prophecy of Moon, Sun and Stars [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (like i'm still following the main story so Aerys/Rhaella are mentioned), Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, No Incest, endgame is Ashara/Ned, mention of abortion, non-major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-01-25 14:17:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12533480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anawfulybigadventure/pseuds/anawfulybigadventure
Summary: "Promise me, Ashara," - the words haunt her.280 AC. Rhaegar Targaryen marries Elia of House Nymeros Martell.





	1. Secret of House Martell

**Author's Note:**

> I planned it as a prequel, but it has grown to be it's own work, so here we go. 
> 
> It is going to start as canon, with one thing different. The butterfly effect going to kick in, and the end will be different.
> 
> So, I cannot at the moment have a strict schedule, but I hope to update this every 7-10 days, so with four chapters, it's going to take something near a month to be done~
> 
> Please tell me if you want me to tag anything!

**280 AC**

“I doubt there is a man here that isn’t going to beg on his knees for the dance with you,” - Oberyn smiles deviously. 

Ashara followed the dance steps, allowing for them to be separated, and minutely smiling at a young Mace Tyrell with his face red and sweaty, mouthed at Oberyn: “Perhaps so”. 

Oberyn burst into laughing, and roared: “You have absolutely no shame, do you?”, delighted, not even noticing Lysa Tully in front of him. 

Ashara, high on the magic of the night, pointedly shook her head to the prince’s pleasure, but when she and Oberyn stood yet again together, told him: “Well, I might be blessed by the Maiden-” 

“You, Ashara, would not be blessed by a Maiden,” - Oberyn laughed, and Ashara had to give him her best stern eyes. 

“But it is your sister that was blessed by every other God,” - she finished. 

To that Oberyn gave her a small kiss on her cheek, and they both turned to Elia, finishing the dance. 

She was divine, the most beautiful bride Seven Kingdoms has ever seen. Prince Rhaegar at her left was speaking with someone else, and Ashara decided to come up to Elia to see if she was bored. And, maybe, even give the prince her stern eyes for not appreciating the beauty that is his wife. 

But when she came up to the royal table, Ashara noted that Rhaegar held both Elia’s hands in his. He noticed Ashara first, and, smiling at Elia, excused himself to let them talk. 

Ashara decided that it was possible that Rhaegar did not deserve her condemn. 

“The most beautiful bride beside him, and he is talking politics?” - but she was not going to let Rhaegar go easy. 

Elia smiled at her with that open, hiding nothing smile, happy to see her. 

“It is about his father,” - Elia told her, worry lacing her voice. Ashara remembered the nickname that small folk gave to King Aerys. _Mad King_. 

“Well, so long as the king isn’t planning on burning us all at the wedding feast-” 

“He might,” - Elia whispered, interrupting her. Now Ashara noted how worried Rhaegar seemed, talking with harsh tones with the one of the Kinsguard. 

King has had a place far from them, and Ashara could not see him, but noticed the silver-white of Targaryens there, at the King’s table. 

“King wants to execute traitors to the crown,” - Elia explained, her tone quiet. 

Ashara crouched by Elia, and hugged the princess. 

Elia will have to live with Mad King. A man who burns people alive. 

_Doran has asked her to promise..._

Elia kissed her forehead, disrupting her thoughts. 

“I would hate to be the cause of a heartbreak that many will suffer, if you don’t dance with them,” - Elia tugs her hair. As Ashara looks at her, incredulous, Elia whispers: “Don’t worry, Shara, the prince will handle it.” 

She sounds so sure. She is ready to fall in for prince. Rhaegar now has at least three members of the Kingsguard near him, stiffly telling them something. Perhaps, he can handle his father. Ashara finds herself thinking that Rhaegar looks the way the king should look. And holds himself with a graceful strength of a ruler, not an heir. Ashara knows that it would be easier to obey the prince than the King. 

“How do you like him so far?” - Ashara nods in the direction of Rhaegar. 

They barely know each other. A few walks around Sunspear when the betrothal was announced is all they had before the wedding. 

“He’s good,” - Elia says to her, blooming with a smile. But disbelief on Ashara’s face is probably clear, because Elia adds: “He asked me to dance with him, but I feel a bit tired, so I told him he should enjoy the feast, and dance with others, to which he said that he would rather stay here, with me.” 

Which is the littlest he could do, Ashara thinks, hoping her face isn’t betraying her. 

But Elia looks happy and giddy, her words jumping like she is a child, excited for the new adventure. Ashara doesn't think she has ever seen princess like that. There is colour in her cheeks, and a glassy look in her eyes, perhaps from the talk and the touches of Rhaegar.

“And he speaks gently to me, and kindly, he is nothing like his father,” - Elia says, sure of her words, seeing right through her. 

Ashara thinks that it is too early to say if Rhaegar is nothing like his father, now he isn’t, but surely King Aerys had once been young and handsome. And even if Elia is right, it is barely an accomplishment to be better than King Aerys. 

“Rhaegar told me that I am the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on,” - Elia says, a laughter in her voice. And Ashara knows that Elia is about to say something funny. - “I told him, that it surely isn’t so, because Ashara Dayne is here.” 

“Well, I hope he had a sense to argue with you,” - sweet sweet Elia. There is nothing she can do at the moment, so Ashara stands up, smoothing the wrinkles of her dress. 

“He’s had,” - Elia says, pleased, but not without humour, placing herself low. Ashara kisses the cheek of the princess and whispers: “Then he might truly be nothing like a Mad King.” 

Elia looks a bit scandalised hearing the name many have given to the King. 

Perhaps, rightfully. 

This isn’t Dorne. If anyone were to tell her words to the King, Rhaegar might have to spend the next feast away from his princess-wife, protecting her. 

“I think you will find Stark brothers quite mad then,” - Elia says, she seems almost surprised at her words, saying them like a dirty secret. 

Ashara doesn’t even look in the direction where Elia’s gaze travels to. 

“Oh, I hope to find many men mad, and not just frozen beneath the snow wolves,” - Ashara flickers her hand, looking around for a partner for the next dance. 

“You will,” - says Elia, looking up to her. It seems wrong. 

Ashara remembers the moment she presented to the princess, a few years back. At a time the difference between them, though only three name days, seemed so big. Ashara had to look up to see princess’ face. She remembers how Elia smiled at her. How gentle she was to the little girl, first time away from home. 

Ashara dreamed of it, dreamed of seeing as much of the world as she could, dreamed of touching every part of life Gods designed, but was petrified nonetheless those first moments at the Sun’s Spear. It all was bigger, grander, realer, than the imagines she drawn as a child, walking through the desert, far from people to dream. Elia cared for her, listened to her desires, and promised to see them all coming true. And the desires begun to unfold, and Ashara could never shake the feeling that it was because of Elia. Soon enough Elia will sit near the throne, high up and regal, a queen she should have always been. 

“There is no one to compete with you,” - the princess tells her, and Ashara thinks the words should be said about Elia, not her.

“Well, even if I were to accept the fact that you cannot compete as no one wants to enrage the Targaryen prince, there are plenty others, one prettier than another,” - Ashara says, and lowering herself towards the princess, points out: 

“Look at Catelyn Tully,” - her auburn hair easy to find. To which Elia says, “You can’t place yourself lower a Tully girl,” - and it is so unusual, Elia with even a shadow of meanness. Ashara notices the cup in front of Elia that Rhaegar, who comes back to them, fills with more wine. So Elia’s red cheeks are not from the heat of the feast. 

Ashara finds herself smiling at Rhaegar. She and Oberyn have been trying to get Elia drunk for so long, but nothing ever worked, Elia was always so careful, too shy to lose control. There must be something in prince that will be good for Elia. 

Ashara knows that she should leave the couple alone, but she is too tempted to learn what Elia is like when she is high on the spirits. 

“But what of Cercei Lannister?” - young lioness is as beautiful as her house is rich, with golden hair and golden dress. 

“In few years may be,” - Elia gives that to the Lannister girl. 

“Have you come here, Ashara, to gossip about the ladies with my wife?” - Rhaegar eases himself into their conversation, yet his mind seems to be somewhere else. Perhaps, with the Kingsguard and his father. But he doesn’t seem to mind their talk. 

"I've been only trying to prove Ashara that there's no one more beautiful than her," - airily explains Elia. 

"Except for the queen and the princess," - says Ashara, polite. She hasn't actually seen Rhaella today, but it seems to be a right thing to say, even if boring. 

Someone captures her attention - a girl, dancing with Robert Baratheon. She is graceful, but he will never be, thinks Ashara looking at their dance. 

“And what of that girl here?” - she draws the attention of the newly weds to her. 

“The child in blue?” - Elia follows her sight. 

“Lyanna Stark,” - supplies them Rhaegar. Ashara looks at the prince, hoping they aren't scandalising him. People north of the Dorne always seem so tight up in their manners. Usually she wouldn't care to give a slightest damn of what a prince would think of her, but today is about Elia. There is a bit of a tension in the voice of Rhaegar, but he might still be worried about his father. 

“A child,” - dismisses her Elia. 

“But in few years…” - draws Ashara, smiling, teasing Elia, deciding that if Rhaegar hadn't had the taste for their gossipy talk, he would show disinterest. 

“In few years, yes. So it would be for the best for you to cease the moment, and use that gift the Gods have given you” - finishes Elia. 

“That I will,” - she gathers her skirts, ready to go back to the floor, when Rhaegar calls her: 

“If you find it in you, lady Ashara,” - and she pauses, looking at the prince. - “Ser Barristan the Bold can’t seem to stop looking at you. He is a good friend, and there is nothing that I would love more than to bring him a bit of a pleasure.” 

Ashara looks at the prince, puzzled by him. Are his manners stiff? But isn't there just a bit of a smile in his eyes? Is there a joke? 

"But not too much pleasure, surely," - she risks saying. 

Elia raises the eyebrows at her, but prince goes along, mouth tugging upward a little: 

"I'm afraid Kinsguard is sworn against too much pleasure." 

Oh, Ashara does like the prince. She smiles, and with a curtsy descends to the floor. She is intending to find Ser Barristan, but it is Arthur who finds her first. 

"How are you enjoying the feast?" - he teases her, knowing full well that she is extatic. 

Arthur is wearing the armour, he is here to guard the prince. She moves to the shadows from where her brother has a clear view of the feast. 

“I like it fine, thank you, brother,” - she says, jokingly polite, unable not to mock Arthur. 

"I've seen you talking to prince," - Arthur starts. 

"Which one? Oberyn or Rhaegar?" - she asks distractedly, eyes scanning the floor. 

"We are not in Dorne anymore, Ash. Seven Kingdoms have only one prince," - Arthur says. Ashara wonders when her brother became such a terrible bore. 

"And what of Viserys?" - _or Doran_ she adds inside. But she doesn't want to think of Doran just now. 

Arthur heavily breathes out, clearly not ready to bicker with her. Years away from Dornish sun stiffened her brother. His blood has probably froze over in that winter that begun to wane. 

Ashara hopes that will not happen to her - hopes sun and stars and wine will forever send her spirit dancing. 

"I liked the prince," - she gives Arthur a reply that he expects. She isn't lying, but she isn’t ready to explain to him that her observation of the prince is far from done, and can change before she even finds the next partner to dance with. 

“He must seem boring to you?” - Arthur sees right through her. 

Ashara thinks back to that moment when Rhaegar caught her joke, but she doesn’t want to be speaking about the dragon prince anymore. 

“Terribly so,” - she cuts the conversation. - “But surely there must be someone interesting, and ready to dance with me.” 

“Ready to dance with you? Only every other man. Interesting? Perhaps not so many,” - Arthur scrunches his face, and Ashara finds herself smiling, more than ready to gossip: 

“Northerners know nothing of fun, do they?” 

“Here Northerners are Starks and the houses sworn to them,” - Arthur starts again. 

“You know what I mean,” - she rolls her eyes. 

“Boring doesn’t mean bad,” - offers her Arthur. 

“Yes, but boring means boring,” - Ashara tells him, with a note of impatience in her tone. 

Arthur lets her have the last word, filled with a grace and patience, like a knight of songs. And a terrible bore. She would have loved to bicker with Arthur, like they used to when they were children, in Starfall. 

“I’ve just seen Lyanna Stark. The girl seemed sending everyone around her laughing,” - Arthur tells her after a short pause. 

“Well, I cannot dance with her. At least not here, in Kings Landing,” - comes her reply. Back in Dorne no one would think if she were to dance with another woman, but here, everything is different. And anyway, Ashara wouldn’t want to dance with the child no matter which part of the country they’d be in. 

“No, but one of her brothers could have the same humour.” 

Ashara isn’t going to repeat to Arthur what she said about the Stark brothers earlier, so she moves to another topic. 

“I’ve been asked by a prince to dance with Ser Barristan,” - her brother doesn’t seem surprised, corner of his mouth tugging up in a grin. - “But, surely, that might not be the best idea.” 

She remembers the worry in Elia’s voice, and continues: 

“King Aerys was going to burn the traitors, wasn’t he?” 

Arthur shifts, uncomfortable, but tells her: 

“His majesty resigned to his rooms.” 

Relief fills her, but the surprise too. Somehow the Dragon Prince has managed to get control of his father. 

“Then why is the Kinsguard here, and not with their King?” - she goes back to scanning the room, looking for Ser Barristan, curious as to why Rhaegar wanted her to dance with the knight. 

“We are protecting the family of the King, and Lord Commander of Kingsguard went to protect the King,” - Arthur is all so noble, Ashara makes herself remember the time when the two of them were playing together, chasing the rabbits, and Arthur got so excited he wet his pants. 

Oh, how good the life was when she was a child. Life's good now too, changed through the years passed and gone, and she doesn’t mourn her innocence of the childhood, happy it is gone, happy it has been with her.

She probably is drunk, but her mind swirls with the music, and the dancing, and the hungry gazes of men, full of lust and desire. Her beauty is a palpable magical thing, that rides over her body, rests in it, that she knows will rip her body dead when time comes for this gift to be passed to another - Cercei, Lyanna… Not today.

She has to force herself out of that disorienting moment.

Thankfully, she notices the knight, and asks Arthur, 

“How can I make Ser Barristan dance with me?” - she knows that by the traditions of the north, women cannot invite men to the dance. How terribly lot of traditions people in that part of the world have, not for the first time muses Ashara. 

Arthur chuckles, but takes her hand and walks her towards the old knight, and Ashara delights in the way the knight freezes in the spot. He doesn’t look too bad. Surely old, around fifty, his hair is almost wholly white, but his figure is same to the other knights. 

“Ser Barristan, if you could give my sister an honour to dance with her,” - he moves her hand forward, and the old knight takes it in his. He lays her hand of the cold metal of the armour. 

“The honour would be mine, Lady Dayne,” - he says, not meeting her eyes, seemingly shy, like he is a green boy. 

Ashara thinks this might be another thing that draws her in, not the excitement she always gets joking and laughing with Oberyn and others like him, but the devotion that she started to inspire in the boys around her, and each year - within more and more boys. 

“I hope you like dancing, Ser Barristan,” - she says, awaiting with the knight for a circle of dancers to pass by, so they would join in. 

“Not quite,” - his speech is slow, his voice deep. - “But I think you, Lady Dayne, will make any dance partner happy.” 

She thinks of the reply, wanting to say “Oh, it is only years and years of practise,” twisting his words to spice up the conversation, but it will be too much for someone like that old and honourable knight. 

“Have you been watching me, Ser Barristan?” - she says as they slide in for the dance. 

“Me and everyone else here,” - he says so awfully sincere. She guesses that people like Ser Barristan would never know the rules of the game she likes playing so much. She finds that she doesn’t mind. Instead, she thinks of the way she can push him further. 

“I dance the way we do it in Dorne, and I am afraid there are too many people here ready to judge the poor girl who has never left her home kingdom or had a time to learn of the customs of the other lands,” - in truth, she could not give a slightest damn of what the northerners would think of her. 

“You dance beautifully, Lady Dayne,” - finally settles Ser Barristan after a couple of tries. Ashara looks at him, worrying that the repetitive dance figures are taking a toll of the noble knight. 

“Are you tired, Ser Barristan?” - they have to switch the partners, and Ashara allows herself to swirl the way she knows no one can, with her skirts dancing ‘round her ankles, the sleeves of her dress covering her face, and her hair flying. She does enjoy the conversations that are possible in the dance styles of the northerners, but she likes the movement more. Loves nothing more than to feel her body so fully, in a way she only feels it when she is either dancing or making love, loves the quiet murmur around her, enjoys even the hateful glances of the stiff northerners ready to condemn, who have no idea of what it is like to drink from the cup of life and be drunk on it, always thirsty for more. When she is once again against Ser Barristan she has already forgotten about the talk they’ve had. 

“I’m not tired, Lady Dayne,” - he says and Ashara struggles, remembering the question she sent him away with. - “But I can understand why you might think so.” 

His speech sounds rehearsed, and it probably is. 

Why would a man take up a celibacy oath, she wonders not for the first time. 

“I have to tell you that it is not the dancing that makes me lose the thread of the conversation,” - Ser Barristan says at last, finite. She guesses there will be nothing else said on the matter. He respects his stupid ridiculous oath too much. 

She thinks that the blood must run so cold, barely moving for people to say no to the greatness of life itself. How can an oath compare to love. 

She would bring him that greatest pleasure that Rhaegar has warned her the Kingsguard is sworn against. Not because she desires him, but because he desires her. She would love to see his awe of her, would love to see his devotion. But honourable men do not make love. 

After all, they are just a terrible bore. 

When the dance finishes, and Ser Barristan walks her back to her brother, after she thanks him, he says: 

“The enjoyment was mine, Lady Dayne,” - and when he walks back to the Kings table, he never looks back at her. 

And then, even before she has the time to tell Arthur a thing about the dance, somebody appears at her side, asking her for the next dance. 

The man is big, his skin is dark like he is Dornish, his hair as wild as the look in his eyes, she notes the direwolf on his breastplate. 

_Oh, she now can understand why both Elia and Arthur were drawing her attention to the Starks._

“Lord Stark,” - she says, pretending that she knows which of the brothers he is. Not like she knows the names of the Starklings anyway.

“It’s Brandon,” - he says, unnervingly comfortable. 

“I have the utmost distaste for the slow dances,” - she says, attuning to the music. 

“They are the best for the conversations,” - he doesn’t give up. Impressed by his confidence, by the contrast he makes to the Bold Knight, Ashara gives out her hand to be walked over to the dancing couples. As she looks back at her brother, she is surprised to find Arthur frowning a bit at her partner. 

“But I do agree that the slow dances deserve your distaste - they will not let the rest of us enjoy watching you dancing,” - Brandon says, inviting her in, as she stands opposite of him. He is handsome, she decides. A wild look only highlights it. 

“You were watching me?” - she decides to play the same game she tried with Ser Barristan, masking herself naive. 

“Were we not supposed to?” - he raises an eyebrow. And she thinks he expects more from her, and she is anything but disappointing. 

“Did you enjoy watching me dance?” - they circle around, and Ashara decides that the slow dances are not half so bad. This close she can see the grey of Brandon’s eyes. 

“I think people enjoy watching you, lady Ashara. Dancing or not,” - he doesn’t let her have anything her way. 

“I heard you and your brother were watching me dancing or not,” - she lets out, wondering if Brandon is the old or the young brother. 

“We still do,” - he lets her go, a change of partners separating them, and in the slow dance there is such a terribly long time until they are brought back together, but she feels Brandon's gaze hot on her skin. 

And then, amidst the partners she isn’t bothering chatting with, she is surprised to stand near her brother. 

_Whom is he dancing with?_

“He is betrothed,” - Arthur tells her, and she wonders if her brother has sought her only to tell her that. He has spent too much time outside Dorne. 

“So?” - _he isn’t proposing_ , she wants to add, but there are too many people, and Brandon creeps closer with every figure they draw. 

“His betrothal is here,” - Arthur says, with a breath of annoyance. 

And then, she is once again against Brandon Stark, a man apparently promised. _Gods, Arthur has truly thought she is here to charm her future husband?_

“Would you like to make my brother’s day, lady Ashara?” - Brandon Stark asks her, his wild smile and confidence never leaving him. 

“Are you asking me to dance with him?” - She knows how different all families and houses are, but she is still surprised. 

“Gods, no, Ned is too shy,” - roars Brandon, smile - wilder than ever. Ashara wonders if Ned can hear his brother. If he stands anywhere near that area where they are dancing, Brandon’s voice could easily cut through the music and conversations near them. 

“He’s over there,” - he shows her, while they do turns. She doesn’t have the time to notice another Stark, but he is definitely close enough to hear his brother if he tries. 

“Are you here for the sake of your brother or yourself?” - she asks out loud, dropping all her nuances and games. 

She thinks that the same way all the honourable people are a terrible bore, all the exciting ones are too dishonourable. 

She would understand a flirtation of a betrothed, she would even understand if Brandon wanted to bed her, she did sleep with her share of married people. She knows desires, and doesn’t understand anyone who would not be brave enough to follow them. But what she isn’t is a doll that is going to be passed between the brothers. 

Brandon’s face changes dramatically, he studies her quizzical. 

“There is no need for that,” - Brandon tells her, and it infuriates her. 

There is no need for what? Pretending that she has certain honour? 

“Tell me what is it that there is no need for?” - she spats the words in his face, stopping in the dance, disrupting other dancers, and Brandon stops as well. After a momental unsureness, people around them go along with the dance, and they are left amidst the ocean of the moving bodies. 

“You must forgive me, Lady Ashara,” - Brandon’s voice cold as his North, biting. - “Anyone would think you were competing to flirt with every single person on the feast.” 

Arthur comes up to her, and sensing that he is about to start a fight with Brandon, not requiring an explanation, she takes her brother by the elbow, and walks away from the dancers and the music, and the damn Stark. 

“What did he tell you?” - Arthur asks as soon as they find their previous place. From there she can see Elia’s worrisome face, and Ashara smiles at her, even though she feels like all her face muscles are frozen over. 

“Nothing worth fighting,” - she answer, and desperate for a distraction, asks Arthur. - “Who were you dancing with?” 

But to her dismay, Arthur answers, “Lyanna Stark,” and she doesn’t want to think about that family. 

Do they have some twisted family-sport there, in the North? 

Do they think everything is a game? 

“I’d like something to drink,” - she tells Arthur, and usually he would never let her command him like that, but he obeys. Ashara wonders if it's the time in the Kingsguard that made him so gullible, or the look on her face. 

As Arthur makes his way, she calls out: 

“Don’t forget to apologise to that girl,” - because all Starks might be dishonourable, but they, Daynes, are not. 

Without Arthur by her, she gets the time to regain her composure, and when she looks back to the people all around her - drinking, eating, dancing, already less of them, as the night grows over, she feels a bit of shame, which is something Brandon Stark no doubt wanted her to feel. She thinks that she cannot go back to seeking dance partners, or dance as frivolously as she did. She tells herself that it is of no care what others think of her, but damn that Stark. 

“Anyone would think." 

She knows she will shake that shame off in no time, knows that she only needs to find Oberyn and tell him, and after Oberyn will try to kill that damn Stark, he will say something that will feel her better. She would tell Elia, but that would worry the princess too much. But they will assure her that it is of no matter what some Northern Lord thinks of her. 

Perhaps, it is a silly thought to be upset about. 

Many times in Dorne, it was a competition for her, like Brandon has said. Mayhaps, today there was a trace of that competition too. 

But what right Brandon has had to treat her like that desire made her lower, like he could see through her, and join her in the game, and, while holding his honour up tight for his betrothal, think that he can help her out. 

She doesn’t have the right words to explain it, only knows that it felt like a slap of disrespect for her, for house Dayne and Martell, and Dorne. Because she knows what Northerners speak of them, Dornish people, how savage they seem to the rest. It felt in the tone Brandon used with her, as if being from Dorne, she was different from the rest. A low-born girl he can play with, and not respect her. 

She is so caught up in her thoughts, she doesn’t notice the man standing in front of her, lets her gaze laze over him. 

“Lady Dayne?” - only when he quietly calls out, she gets out of her trance. She doesn’t need to learn the name of the man in front of her, for he looks so much like his brother with his black hair, dark skin and grey eyes. 

She does a small curtsy, and Ned Stark bows to her, perhaps not for the first time. Ashara thinks about the excuse she could give to this clearly younger Stark, feeling like she will never want to be near one again. 

“I wanted to,” - he starts and stops, disoriented as she looks right past him, seeking Arthur. 

She inhales, ready to say her farewell, and get back to her chambers, done with the night, but Ned Stark quickly says: 

“I wanted to apologise for my brother’s behaviour.” 

Ashara looks at Ned Stark, straightening up. 

“Is this how it is done in the North? One brother asks for another? Brandon asks for me to talk to you, and you ask for his forgiveness?” - she lets out, too angry to simply walk out. 

Ned Stark gulps, looking stupid like a fish out of water. He doesn’t even have his brother’s fire. Unexciting and dishonourable, Ned Stark surely has managed to offend the Gods before his creation. 

“You will excuse me,” - she mutters, hoping to end Stark’s sufferings. 

“My brother wanted to apologise, but he was sure you wouldn’t care to listen,” - young Stark steps, not letting her go. 

“So he asked you to do it instead?” - her mouth twists, voice coming out bitter. 

“My brother,” - and Gods, she is beyond done talking about Brandon Stark. To her dismay, Ned Stark bravely marches forward with his speech, - “has been a bit drunk, not that it is an excuse, but whatever he has said, he…” 

At this point she notices Oberyn coming up to Elia, and she pushes past young Stark, muttering yet another: “excuse me,” not bothering with the manners. Elia sends Oberyn to meet her halfway, and she sinks into the embrace, feeling herself shaking, eyes watering. 

Thank the Gods, that young Stark hasn’t decided to follow her and finish his apologies that only make her feel worse. 

Oberyn holds her, and walks her out of the feast, lets her hide the tears in his hug, them both not caring what is considered proper or improper amongst those strange people. 

They open the bottle of wine that Oberyn brought from home, and drunk, and sorry for herself, she tells the prince: 

“But isn’t Brandon damn him Stark right?” - not for the first time, and Oberyn who has tried answering that question over and over again grows tired, and shuts her up with a kiss. Their bedding is terrible at first - both piss drunk, she - covered in tears and snot, but after messy undressing they fall into the same giggly routine, both only trying to make sex exciting and fun, and after years of practise succeeding even on the night like that one. 

Before she lulls over, she thinks that Oberyn Martell might have pleased the Gods same way Ned Stark displeased them, for Oberyn is both exciting and honourable. 

** 

A few weeks after the wedding feast, when Ashara’s moon blood hasn’t started, she leaves the castle, intending to find a moon tea, and tansy in case it is too late for the moon tea. 

She has been reckless that night, going from the highest highs to the lowest lows, like she does it, never mingling with the boredom between. 

Ashara finds her way to the streets easily, but it is when she is paying to the rash-skin and dirty low-born that the problems arise. He takes the coin, and in that move forward, sees her face underneath the hood. 

“Gods, aren’t you pretty?” - he exclaims loudly, and Ashara snatches the herbs, and turns, but the seller follows her. 

_How damningly unfortunate_ , she curses inside. 

He keeps shouting at her back, not letting her leave peacefully, she runs a little, knowing full well she cannot bring too much attention to herself, and the seller catches up with her, grabbing her arm. The first nudge of terror fills her. 

_Elia has told her to use the gift that Gods have given her._

_It is no gift._

_Gods are too cruel and twisted to give out gifts._

She tries to escape the hold, and in the heat of the movement her hood falls back, which is surely going to draw more people in. 

And before she has the time to feel the true dread, a familiar voice roars: 

“Leave the lady alone,” - and a man on a horse stands by her. The seller drops to his knees, muttering what is seems to be “m’lord, m’lord…” 

She doesn’t turn to face Brandon Stark, just pulls her hood over her hair, and intends on going back to the Red Keep, not saying a word to the Northern Lord. 

“Lady Dayne,” - he follows her high up on a horse, humour in his voice, - “I don’t think it would be most wise for you to walk alone.” 

_Gods, if he isn’t annoying!_

She turns to face him, and then notices that Brandon Stark is not alone. 

She does a quick curtsy, muttering: 

“Afternoon, Lord Stark,” - pointedly looking only at the younger brother. Ned as usual, is lost with the words, but he does a small bow. She can feel the amusement rolling off Brandon, so she says, wicked, - “You surely wouldn’t mind walking me back to the Red Keep?” - to Ned Stark. 

That evening, she was terribly upset and could not think straight, but later on she admitted that she could have been kinder to the quiet wolf, he might be a terrible bore, and unable to speak, but he treated her with respect and tried to apologise. 

Ned Stark immediately dismounts, and she walks over to hold his elbow, and only then turns back to Brandon and says, “I believe there is nothing holding you here,” - refusing to call him lord or by his name. 

_He hasn’t even tried to apologise._

Brandon looks at her, same demons in his smile, but bows to her mockingly low, and struts away without so much as a word or a glance for his brother. 

While the two of them walk through the murmur of conversation around them, with the low-born folk looking at them, but no one daring to come close, they don’t talk. Soon they go through the abandoned streets, and seeing as the two are covered by the cloaks, no one pays attention to the pair, and the silence gets a bit heavy. She wonders what the younger wolf thinks of her. 

“You still haven’t left King’s Landing?” - she seems to startle him with the question. 

He turns to her, but then looks forward. Ashara thinks that Brandon is same age as she, but Ned must be younger than her by a couple of name days. 

Mayhaps, she is cruel to think that he is slow, he could still have the remains of the children’s shyness in him. 

“No, ehm,” - he fidgets, thinking of saying something to her, but she interrupts: 

“How old are you, Lord Stark?” - he looks like a man grown, though compared to his brother he definitely has some time to get there. 

“Oh, I am… Khm… My seventeenth name day is coming soon,” - he finishes the sentence after a few unsuccessful tries. Weirdly, Ashara imagines Ned Stark bedding in the same manner as he speaks - with the struggle at first, with an effort to do it right and quick, and the relief to be done at the end. She has to mask the giggle escaping her from the picture as a cough. She is unkind. He is not a child, but younger than her by three name days. Three name days ago she was a maiden. 

“You have to forgive me my behaviour with you at the wedding feast, Lord Stark,” - she says softly, experiencing a change of heart towards the boy. 

“Please call me Ned,” - he asks of her, and then adds. - “There’s nothing to forgive, it is me who should be… Brandon too, of course him more…” 

She isn’t quite interested in the swarm of the words he unleashes on her, so she tells him: 

“It’s all good,” - she decides to end this torture that the talk seems to be for a young Ned. 

“No,” - he says it, determined. - “I think… If you, Lady Dayne, have thought that my brother has said something unforgivable, you have all the right to not accept his… or more accurately my apologises.” 

She looks at poor Ned Stark (is it truly his name? Ned sounds like it is shortened for something), and says: 

“I think, you should leave the whole ordeal to your brother and me,” - not unkind. 

Ned Stark colours, and then starts with: “Yes, of course, it is nothing to do with…” 

“Is Ned your full name?” - she once again takes a pity of him, but she finds herself genuinely curious. 

“It’s Eddard, Lady Dayne,” - he doesn’t hold grudges for her manners, it seems. She has interrupted poor boy more times than he tried to speak. 

“How peculiar, Eddard - Ed - Ned,” - she muses out loud, thinking it would be a show of her good manners to reply something to his words. 

“Yes,” - he says, and then keeps quiet for the rest of the walk. 

Ashara glances at him few times along the way, sees how sometimes he struggles for words, seeking a phrase to end the silence. 

She is glad he doesn’t find anything, for all he is, Ned Stark is a terrible bore, and she would not want to get lost in the bits and bites of the phrases he finds to transfer his thoughts. She wonders if the reason for his eloquence is the same as Sir Barristan’s, but chastises herself for such thoughts. 

It is possible that young Ned has been a bit starstruck by her beauty, but men’s nature is so that they never let woman in the question of their heart’s desires. So she is sure that if Ned Stark has desired so much that his words turned to the mush at the sight of her, she would find some of that mush filled with his desire in front of her. 

She can’t help but think how would young Stark behave, would he desire her, what words would he find. 

More likely than not, he would find all the same words and gestures that countless others gave her. Men are terribly unimaginative creatures. 

When she goes back to her bed chamber, Ned Stark bows to her, clumsy and stiff, and she thanks him and closes the door, thinking that it would be fun to find Ned Stark between this quiet timid boy he is now, and the man his brother promises he will grow into. 

When she drinks the moon tea, it leaves her with the taste of ashes inside her mouth. 

A passing thought runs through her - what if she were not to take the moon tea her next bedding. 

_She is sure that Ned Stark isn’t so guarded around the kids._

The terrible spasm inside her, of her belly, disgusted by the moon tea, doesn’t let her dwell too long on that thought, and it diffuses, leaving no trace of it.

**

The next day, Elia tells her that her moon turn has not come. 

_Ashara’s started few hours before the talk with the princess._

She forgets all about Starks, who leave that day with all their banner men, tending and caring for Elia, the two of them talking about the future heir to the throne. And that becomes true for the upcoming days forward. 

Ashara loves the swell of Elia, subtle changes at first, and then each day - more dramatic. 

She even thinks that she might feel a stab of jealousy. She could swell, too. There could be a child inside her. 

But Elia needs her, and after each bedding she drinks up the moon tea.

She worries for Elia, who starts growing tired, fatigue getting such a strong hold of her, that the last moon turns, Elia has to be moving in a wheel chair… 

_Like Doran._

The thoughts of him plague her mind, and it all comes back to her one day. 

It is the day that Rhaenys is born, when Oberyn tells her: 

“The decease has begun,” and she is helpless against the memory swarming her. 

Her last day in Dorne, Doran has asked her to see him. 

He’s told her that he hadn’t been sure of his decision to tell her, but will reveal her something even so. 

“Elia has the early signs of the same decease that I have,” - he said. 

“Promise me, Ashara, that you will look out for signs.” 

“It affects woman differently. Pregnancy most likely will make the decease either leave completely, or make it grow faster, affecting Elia deeper.” 

“Promise me, Ashara, that you will take care of Elia should that decease take a hold of my sister” 

“Targaryens are the dragon blood, but there are no more dragons. They are the family with generations of interbreeding. There is no coin for the Gods to flip each time a Targaryen is born, with the dragons gone, greatness is gone too. And the madness remains.” 

“Promise me, Ashara, that you will look out for that madness.” 

“What can madness do to a wife unable to give heirs?” 

“Promise me, Ashara, that you will do what you can to protect Elia from that madness.” 

“Promise me, Ashara.” 

She says it again, says the words, that are heavy on her tongue, that bring the taste more bitter than the taste of the ashes of moon tea, says the words, that she felt at a time were a treason, felt like a consent to death. 

“I promise.”


	2. Secret of House Targaryen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be mindful of tags!  
> Warnings for this chapter: mention of self-harm

**281 AC**

Ashara can’t help herself but compare Kings Landing to Dorne. Red Keep is in some ways more impressive than the Sunspear - the walls are higher, the dungeons go deeper, the Dragon Skulls are terrifying, and the Iron Throne makes even someone like Aerys look Kingly. 

And yet. 

She misses the warm breeze that was able to run through the castle, with the windows wide, sending the curtains dancing. She misses the flowers, and their intoxicating smell. She misses the food, so full of spices compared to the tasteless feasts the northerners have. She misses their sweet wine. She misses the wide open galleys, where she could dance with anyone she would choose, but the Red Keep has the walls too close, they are pressing Ashara, making her feel trapped, and there is no remedy for that. There is nothing to protect her against the feeling that she has - that the walls are going to come down, the ceilings too, and the dragon skulls and every sword in that ugly chair, and pin her down, leaving her without air. 

She misses the fountains everywhere, and ponds and the constant sound of water, filled with the promise that the heat wouldn’t burn her alive, for she could always swim. 

And Gods, how much she loved swimming! 

She loved splashing water in the fountains with other girls, could easily jump into the pond, a weird touch of smooth cold fish - a pleasant sensation, a reminder that she is alive. And, she could always run and run, no matter direction - she would always end at the sea shore, dropping herself to the mercies of the waves. Because more than anything, she misses how easy it was to leave the castle, to leave the city, to go into the desert, to abandon her shoes, digging her toes into the hot sand, to go and go and go, until no matter where she’d look, she wouldn’t see anything but the sand or the stars, the exhaustion beating all demons inside her, her spirit tugging on the strings inside her until she would sing, and no one would hear her song. 

She has always known her good days are much better than good, they are ecstatic, heady, a clear gift of Gods, for it always seems to be grander than man’s happiness or joy. She knows the price - her bad days are worse than bad, the touch of Gods clear in them, too. Desperation and pain too great to be explained in man’s terms. On the bad days, even the gifts seem to be punishments.

There are more bad days in the Red Keep, for there is no sea for her to lose herself in. For there is no desert for her to walk, beating down the endless chatter inside her brain with the exhaustion, for there is no scalding hot sand for her to bury her feet in - a punishment that her body remembers, evaporating Gods’ punishment. 

She doesn’t have the place to sing, drawing figures on the sand, moving the stars, so the demons come. New demons - demons of the Red Keep. Demons of the sharp edges of swords that make Iron Throne, demons of Dragon’s teeth, and the worst - demons of the castle itself, that she so rarely leaves, that they shrink her, the ceiling flattens her on the floor, the walls squeeze her until there is no air to breathe.

Sweet Elia is enraptured with Rhaenys, Oberyn has left the castle almost immediately after Rhaenys’ birth to bring the news to Doran that no raven can carry. And Ashara can’t leave the castle, doesn’t have anything to do. 

Her bad days swallow her entire life, until she finds a child that clearly has faced a few moon turns in Elia’s hands. Where was the babe she helped nurse? _Eaten by her demons._

That is the day in which Ashara receives the raven from Doran, and he has asked her about Elia and her well-being, and about the child. She could sense the questions that were left unsaid. The most important question lights up her brain, bringing the night that still haunts her, burns all other thoughts she’s had.

_Do you remember the promise, Ashara?_

That question makes her come out of the dark place she has been in, and see the child, and see Elia, exhausted to her bones, but happy.

She notes the table in front of her and the somehow familiar food, the windows are perched high up on the walls, the clear line of light coming through them. She’s seen it all before, countless times. But still, she sees it all for the first time.

The walls are about to trap her, there doesn’t seem to be enough air, but she forces herself out of it.

_Now is not the time._

She knows that she will have to somehow find a way out of her visions, out of her battle. She knows she will have to find a way to loose herself, the way she did it in the ocean, to punish her, the way the sand and the long walk did for her, to find a place to have her rituals and her songs and fight, fight, fight tooth and nails against this endless chatter inside her. Not because life is great, or the dreams are about to come true, - what she used to remind herself to keep going, but because she has responsibilities grander than her life. 

Doran, she had to admit it, is a smart man. He sees through people, he knows people, years of him sitting and observing the life were not wasted. If he suspects there might a danger to Elia, she must do her best to check if it’s true.

She makes herself eat (did she even eat before?). She doesn’t like the heavy meat that Northerners enjoy so much, instead favouring fruits, such as grapes and oranges, cheese, bread with grains that has a funny texture, salty butter and the strawberry lemonade.

She looks at Rhaegar, busy in books, counting something. She thinks that she’s seen him before, eating and reading. 

But as Rhaenys starts wheezing, Rhaegar takes her from Elia and starts cooing over her, lulling her, walking around to calm her down. And Ashara knows she’s seen this before, too.

She smiles at Elia, and her princess tiredly smiles back, the smell of her freshly-made cup of coffee fills Ashara’s nose. 

“So how are the preparation for the Harenhall tourney going?” - sing-songs Elia, so that her voice wouldn’t disturb little princess.

Ashara knows of that too. How peculiar, she muses for a second, that she thought she was somewhere else, in a place with no time or light, but her body was here, and now that she sinks inside it, her body gives her back all that she missed.

Ashara thinks about that tourney. Would it be wise for Elia, so weakened, or Rhaenys, a child that still hasn’t learned how to walk, to travel. Especially to the haunted castle that is Harrenhall. 

And then she sees the face of Rhaegar who ever so gently answers to Elia’s question, that Ashara thinks she sees only the proofs of Doran’s words.

But, still, Ashara watches Rhaegar next days, and she sees him - a man ready to brood, and contemplate books rather than his daughter or wife… But she doesn’t see the madness. 

Besides the cold winter is almost over, or so the talk goes, the warmth of the spring fills the castle, a warmth - almost a promise from Dorne. 

**

She busies herself with the preparations for the tourney, sees herself that the princess’ accommodations are thought through and through, all while trying to see what Doran wanted her to look for - a sign of madness.

Prince Rhaegar spends the days at the library, so Ashara goes there as well. She’s never had the taste for the books, could never sit still to read them, but as she looks over the library, she finds some interesting paintings of the dresses. She hopes Rhaegar, should he ever ask, will be left unquestioned as to why she has such a sudden interest in the parchments, when he sees her in the new clothes, ready for the tourney. 

What Rhaegar reads, Ashara finds, is actually not all that boring. Maester Kelan, as unprotected against her charms as any other man, tells her that the Dragon Prince is most interested in the songs, in prophesies.

So when Ashara feels like Rhaegar got used to her presence at the library, she gathers her skirts and comes forward to talk.

“Are you so worried for the ghost of the Harrenhall to haunt your child, prince Rhaegar, that you seek protection in prophesies and songs?” - Ashara looks over the table, filled with parchments.

Rhaegar lifts his eyes at her, and she wonders if she has ever seen him so close. There are dark circles underneath his eyes, he looks at her with the expression she cannot read, mayhaps there is suspicion, mayhaps revulsion, but he is too guarded to let her see him through. He is the handsomest man she has ever seen, she can admit that much - his features clean and right.

“I feel that you, Ashara, do not believe in the protection of prophesies and songs,” - he answers, still guarded as ever. She knows that she should explain to him why she came to talk.

“I do not believe in prophesies and songs as a whole,” - she instead bids more time. She thinks of that great prophecy of house Dayne that made too many of her ancestors do stupid or terrible things.

“But you are worried for my child, aren’t you?” - surprisingly Rhaegar doesn’t mind talking about nothing. But it is clear for Ashara that it isn’t because he is entertained by her words or manners. Does he despise her? Or does he see her only as a stupid girl, close to Elia?

“Aren’t we all?” - she smiles sweetly, ready to play whichever role Rhaegar wants her to play. But there is something in the subtle movement of his eyebrow that shows Ashara that he doesn’t buy her sweetness.

“You are worried about Elia, too, I presume?” - could it be that Rhaegar sees all through her game? She thought herself to be a good player, but can the victories be true if her enemies were always ready to surrender. What is she without her charms and beauty, both hopeless against the prince?

“Not so much,” - she decides to try. - “Elia is not as weak as a child, is she?” 

“The child fever weakened her,” - she sees confusion in Rhaegar’s face, no more than a shadow.

“Oh yes, but…” - here she takes the pause, thinking over her next words. - “Before we left, Doran explained me the nature of Elia’s sickness. He said that she is to get better after the childbirth.” 

She isn’t sure that this is what Rhaegar needs to hear, that Elia is to be stronger. She plays by the simple rule that she knows well - no one has to know about the weaknesses.

“I know of Elia’s sickness, Ashara,” - he says it frankly, she knows whatever game she was building, is over. - “She doesn’t have too much time left.”

“Doran is still alive, and he is years older than her,” - she argues.

“Yes, but Doran didn’t have to bear children,” - he is calm, explaining everything to her like she doesn’t know more than him.

“Elia will endure,” - she says, stubborn.

He looks at her the way people look at children. 

_He is no more than a name day older than her._

“You will do anything for Elia, wouldn’t you?” - there is even a patronising tone clear in prince’s voice.

“I will,” - she swears.

And maybe now he looks at her kinder than before.

“And what of you?” - if she had to strip over her game, she thinks she has the right to demand something back from Rhaegar. He looks at her, questioning. - “What will you do anything for?”

Rhaegar looks over her, a small smile on his lips. Yes, she thinks, look at me, see me for the child that I am, unable to play the game.

“I want to return my family the greatness,” - he says at last.

Ashara thinks of Doran.

“Your greatness is gone with the dragons,” - before she has the time to think over her words, they come out.

But Rhaegar, for some reasons, looks impressed.

“So it is,” - he nods her, bidding her farewell, without saying it, and goes back to his parchments.

Ashara is too embarrassed of her words, so she does turn to leave the prince, but then she finds herself needing to understand, so she turns back.

“Is that what you are looking for?” - she asks, looking at the prophesies, feeling that she must misunderstand something. Maybe she is too stupid. - “Are there the prophesies that tell of the dragons awakening again?” 

It can’t be so. That would be understandable in a child - to seek a way to bring the dragons back, but for the prince…

She doesn’t know what makes Rhaegar answer her… Only that he does. And that might be the only time that he does it with such honesty.

“Yes, there are.” 

And when Ashara meets Rhaegar’s eyes, she knows why he answers her. She knows Doran is right. There are no Targaryens without madness.

She shivers, she wants to fly away from this mad men with his twisted idea - to bring the dragons back.

Unlike the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, Dorne fought against dragons, they know the dragons for what they are - a terrible, ugly power.

But he cannot bring them back, reminds herself Ashara, it is only the mad men idea. She needs to know what he will do to bring them back, will it harm Elia or Rhaenys.

“How?” - she questions. 

And prince answers yet again. 

“There are so many prophesies, it is hard to understand. They will borne in great fire, a dragon has three heads, against the darkness, the moon will swell from sun and stars and break…” 

She thinks that he hasn’t been able to talk of this idea that took over his mind, and maybe he needs to. Maybe he doesn’t care what she thinks of him, knows she is too unimportant, too powerless against him, and that’s why he tells her all that.

And, still, she needs him to trust her, even a little, needs to hide the fact that she is petrified of that madness, needs him to know that she doesn’t see it in him, only the greatness.

“I know of the last prophesy. It is the Starfall prophecy, isn’t it? The Sun, the Stars and the Moon will awaken…” - it probably isn’t the same, only it is the single prophecy she knows of, and she needs Rhaegar not to think that she is afraid. 

He freezes in his thoughts, his terrifying dreams of dragons - a veil over his eyes, he didn’t even hear her. Maybe it is for the best.

She turns and leaves the library.

And then she runs back to Elia’s chambers. She asks the princess to permit her to sleep there, and even though Elia is busy trying to calm small Rhaenys down, she lets her.

**

The next day they are settled to leave the Kings Landing, a day that Ashara spends dozing off - little Rhaenys would wake up just as Ashara would begin to fall asleep, and then she and Elia would try their best to lull Rhaenys to sleep.

Yet, Ashara is grateful for that distraction - for the sleepless night, and for her exhaustion throughout the day, lest she doesn’t think of the talk she’s had with Rhaegar.

The ever-so-short moments during the night when the babe would calm down and sleep, and the silence would feel so deep, because both she and Elia would control their breath, trying not to wake the child, brought enough horrors. She can’t tell now if they were borne out of the thoughts she’s had, or out of the dreams she isn’t sure she’s had. Only that the visions of the dragons haunted her, like she was again a small child learning of the war with the beasts.

She tells herself it is not about the dragons, only about the man mad enough to dream of them. 

And she manages to do that. She sees Rhaegar, who looks at her as if he sees her for the first time, and tells herself that she can handle him. 

Besides it is too hard to think about the terrors of one night, not when Ashara finds the walls and the ceilings gone, at last far away from that terrifying castle and throne, and sees the nature blooming with the breath of the spring.

She takes little Rhaenys and shows her the flowers, to the endless delight of the child, they go and touch the water, explore the forests they pass, and the meads begging for them to lay on. The guards go with them, no matter where they’d go exploring, but aside from that Rhaegar and Elia do not seem to mind Ashara taking care of the child.

Ashara finds Rhaenys an interesting companion, whose interest in everything matches hers, and she also likes the guards who are sent to look over them - one day her brother, another - Ser Barristan. She likes that Arthur seems to be softer away from all the Northerners, near the child, and she learns to like the noble knight.

The journey is easy, Elia actually begins to look better. Ashara thinks that they, Dornishmen, aren’t made for the winter, but they bloom in the warmth.

And in the last inn they stay in that she sees a man she has forgotten of.

Apparently the Starks were coming to the tourney as well, so there is no coincidence that they meet not too far from the Harrenhall. She sees the banners first - the grey direwolf on the white field, and later when it becomes clear that inn doesn’t have enough rooms for all the people, she sees Brandon talking to prince Rhaegar. Most of their people would have to sleep outside, there is barely enough room for the nobles.

She notices with a great surprise that Brandon Stark is taller that the prince. 

_He seems to have grown._

And while she stands near the tables, waiting for maids to prepare her room, she sees Brandon’s eyes flicking at her. She doesn’t know why she smiles.

Brandon settles the talk with the prince, and by that time, she is already climbing up the stairs. She sees him moving towards her, but moves faster and disappears in the hallway. 

Her heart, she realises as she sinks behind the closed door, is beating rapidly. And she tells herself she doesn’t know the reason for it.

She prepares the bath, the heat of it cleansing her skin, and washes thoroughly. 

Ashara remembers the night when she saw Brandon for the first time, he offended her then. Now as she muses over their talk, it seems so insignificant, not worthy of a year-long grudge.

She wears one of her new dresses and then descends down. She becomes aware, as she always is, of the gazes. She might have overdone her preparations, but she isn’t even a bit uncomfortable because of that.

Elia smiles at her, and tells her that she looks beautiful to which Ashara thanks her.

The table that they eat at is away from everyone else, but when she finds the table where Brandon Stark dines, she becomes all too conscious of that table. His gaze on her is unwavering, the touch of it - hot on her skin.

She’s seen men looking at her with such desire before, can say she's seen even Brandon Stark looking at her with the same hungry before, so it doesn’t explain why this time the gaze seems heavy.

The food in front of her is good, she likes the crusty taste of the boiled shrimp, and the tender meat of the lobsters, likes the dark-brown mead, but all the while she cannot shake her tense muscles, all because she is too aware of Brandon Starks’ eyes on her.

Arthur, opposite of her, notices her slight discomfort, and, leaning forward asks her, voice laced with humour:

“Which one of Starks you keep looking at?” 

“Oh, is Ned here too?” 

She decidedly does not react to the small laugh escaping her brother. Ned Stark apparently is there too.

Ashara doesn’t know how she could missed him, that wolf-child of whom she thought not too frequently, but always with kindness.

In her memories, she understands it now, she made him smaller. He is a grown man, or looks that way, until she mouthes at him: “Hey, Ned,” and to her bubbly laughter, he turns red, visibly embarrassed all across the room.

She looks back at her plate, dividing her gazes between the people on it, not looking at the Starks’ table. But she can’t help the small smile playing on her lips from the memories of sweet Ned. Just like she remembers him. She thinks she would very much like to be kind to him for the kindness he’s shown her on the wedding feast and that day when he walked her back to castle. But what prompts her smile go wider, she has to admit, is the thought of Brandon green with envy of the attention she’s given to his brother.

That thought alone gives her the strength to go back to her room, without lingering any further. They all would go to sleep today as early as they can, to finish the last bit of their journey tomorrow.

But she can’t say that she is surprised when she hears the knock on her door before she has the time to even cross the room.

On a whim, she leans towards the door, placing her ear on the wood and struggles to listen to the sounds from out there. 

She hears people feasting and drinking and singing the songs, and while it is far down, the sound doesn’t let her hear the man who knocked.

Can she guess what that man is thinking of now? Is his breath shortened? Is he pacing behind, or stands still and sure?…

Ashara opens the door and faces Brandon Stark.

He’s grown. There is a shadow of the beard on his face, he is even taller and bigger than he was the last time. And, she thinks, he’s grown into his wild look as well. Compared to before, the Brandon Stark she’s met, who's had a childish desire to play written over his features, now has ferocity and confidence that doesn’t need to be bragged about.

“You’re even more beautiful now, lady Ashara,” - Brandon Stark is looking at her with familiarity that should be inappropriate. 

“I believe you still owe me the apologies,” - cuts him Ashara.

She didn’t think she was still mad, but Brandon Stark needs to remember his place, and treat her like a noble lady she is, and not some maid he can seduce.

“You are right,” - he sobers a little, which amuses Ashara. It is pleasing to see Brandon Stark being… Serious?

“I do owe you apologies, lady Dayne. My behaviour with you, and the words that I used could be interpreted as offensive, and for that I am sorry,” - and because her eyebrows shoot up, Brandon realises that it is not enough, so he continues - “They also suggested the familiarity that was unwelcome, seeing as we’ve only met at a time.”

She wonders if he rehearsed the words, they do not go well with everything that she’s learned of Brandon Stark so far. 

She looks at him, trying to see if there is a joke hidden behind his words, but he holds himself tall, a familiar easy smile playing on his lips. She’s seen a game in it, but maybe it is friendly instead.

He probably sees her defences lowering after his words, because he doesn’t waste the time.

“Would you like to go outside? Innkeeper told me this is the night when the stars go falling,” - asks her Brandon.

What is Brandon Stark? What does he think of her?

Oh, does it truly matter? 

The stars go down, and Brandon Stark wants her to see it. He is exceptionally good-looking, the sight of him fills her with desire she seldom felt before. He is up to game, and he seems to have learnt of the way he needs to treat her. She can play with him this game of desires, and make the blood run hot, that is often even better than the heat of the bedding itself.

The stars are falling, and she is Dayne, one of the stars, who’s got only that much time before the fall.

“Only if your brother is there,” - she decides to say, sensing that Ned is a sure place to pinch Brandon.

“Ah, yes, Ned…” - Brandon gives out his hand, and she places her hand on his elbow. _Gods, his skin is burning through the material_. - “You seem to enjoy the company of my little brother.” 

She thinks that lack of tensity in his voice gives out that he knows it is all a game for her, but so long as he is in…

“I think I’m in less danger with your brother. He soothed me when I was offended,” - _by someone_ she decides to leave out, - “and he was the one to protect me on my walk back to Red Keep.” 

“Are you afraid of me, lady Ashara?” - Brandon sounds amused. In that he is similar to her.

“Oh no, lord Stark, not afraid,” - they descend the stairs, and go out. There are a lot of people looking at the night sky, their murmur a pleasant buzz around them.

“I’m simply most comfortable around your brother,” - she whispers to him, as they pass through the people. There seems to be a catch in Brandon’s breath, when he feels her body coming closer to his. Surely, it could be wishful thinking.

What is Ashara without the devotion she needs to inspire?

But there is a tense line in the jaw of Brandon.

And when he introduces her to Ned, saying: “Lady Dayne was most eager to see you, brother,” his words do not embarrass Ashara, because Brandon says them in such way that makes her want to dance.

“That is true,” - she smiles kindly at Ned. And before he has the time to reply, she continues:

“You were most kind to me in Kings Landing,” - sending Ned Stark hide inside himself, like he is a hedgehog. But as much as Ned's reaction is fascinating, the bulging of the muscles underneath her hand, that tell her she wasn’t wrong - Ned is the sure way to tease Brandon, is much better.

She is about to start questioning young wolf, giving him all her attention when she notices the child she’s seen before. 

Lyanna Stark.

She stands right behind Ned Stark, almost unrecognisable in the dark, except for the easy grace she hold herself with.

But the man she talks to is easy to see for Rhaegar’s silver hair reflects the moon and stars.

Where is Elia? Pacing all over her room, trying to calm Rhaegar’s child, missing out the stars that are about to go down?

Rhaegar smiles, his smile the only thing Ashara sees, even as the people around her sigh, and ooh and ahh, her mind and body one in this moment. Seized by hatred.

She doesn’t remember the stars, or their fall, or of any words Stark brothers said to her. Only her thoughts.

Doran has implied this, didn’t he?

What will madness do to a wife, unable to give heirs?

She still doesn’t know what Rhaegar needs for his terrible vision of dragons coming alive, but she knows that Doran is right.

No matter what Rhaegar does to bring the dragons back, first, he needs an heir to secure his throne. Rhaenys, by the stupid laws of Northerners, is not an heir.

That is why she is petrified of Rhaegar’s smile around that she-wolf. If Elia cannot carry him a son, someone else will.

She doesn’t remember how she ended in her chambers that night, or how she awoke in the morning. 

The last bit of the journey, she was with Elia and the child, Rhaegar was constantly checking up on them. And Ashara thought him to be a hypocrite. 

Soon they come to that ugly castle that is Harrenhall, a living proof of the madness that took over Rhaegar - who would dream of the beasts capable of such destruction?

Brandon Stark comes to her yet again, asking her to walk with him. And his brother, he adds with a sour smile. She doesn’t really think of everything that smile is hiding, only happy to be brought out of her chambers. 

She asks the brothers about Lyanna, and they happily tell her, and even Ned Stark shakes off his usual timidness, describing the she-wolf to Ashara. She learns that Lyanna is promised. And more importantly, she learns that Lyanna is in her chambers. At least that night.

**

The tourney flies, and all the while Ashara watches Rhaegar - during the day he is as attentive to Elia as usual, during the night, as she walks around that hideous castle that gives her nightmares, she always makes sure to ask the Starklings as to where Lyanna is.

Oberyn comes to the tourney a bit later, and she is happy to see him, but she is also glad he flies and buzzes around Elia and Rhaenys, so that she could continue watching Rhaegar.

She wouldn’t notice if she wasn’t looking, but Rhaegar does look at the Stark-child more and more often. Against herself, she compares that gaze to the one she receives from Brandon.

Brandon desires her, that much comes clear. Ned at this point is there, during the walks, only to ensure the propriety of it. 

Ashara thinks that to anyone else it would look opposite - that it is the promised Brandon walks her and Ned. But, then, who could be sure as to what the Northerners would say. She is happy that no one knows about those walks.

On the ninth day of the tourney, Jon Connington invites her to dance.

“Gladly,” - she replies. 

He is a brilliant dancer.

“How do you like the tourney so far, lady Dayne?” - Jon asks, apparently in the taste for the talk.

“I liked your fight against Rhaegar,” - where it was clear for anyone just how devoted Jon is to the prince.

“Prince Rhaegar is a great warrior, lady Dayne.” 

“Prince Rhaegar has great men devoted to him, or so it seems,” - Jon, despite being one of the most devoted, is only the first one of many. Others include her brother, and the rest of the Kingsguard, including the new-anointed knight Jaime Lannister. She wonders when Jon is going to cut the crap and tell her whatever it is that he needs to say. She is in no delusions of futileness of her beauty against men like Jon Connington.

They separate for a long moment, a change of partners - a usual blur, some men compliment her, and her replies come flying back.

By the time they get together, there isn’t that much time left of the dance. Which is probably what prompts him to talk frank.

“Princess Elia, on the other hand, has only you devoted to her, doesn’t she?” - which sounds like a threat.

“And the whole Dorne behind her back.” 

“What is Dorne compared to other Six Kingdoms?”

“Same thing that I am compared to all the great men devoted to Rhaegar, I suppose,” - she says with a venom. Dorne could fight Six Kingdoms, and she will fight the Kingsguard if needed.

Jon looks at her, for the first time blooming with a smile in her presence.

“So that is what you are. Just a maid, fully devoted to Elia, are you not?” - his tone condescending.

“Not too different from you, am I? You’re just a knight fully devoted to Rhaegar.” 

“Yes, Lady Dayne. And I pray there never to be a day when we will have to oppose each other, for that will be the day when the Seven Kingdoms will be ripped apart,” - he says with the last notes of the music.

What was it? What sort of test?

“You just wanted to know if I am Elia’s?” - she asks, daringly. What are the chances Jon will tell her all the reasons?

He lingers when he walks her back to her place.

“And you don’t even mind me not being devoted to Rhaegar,” - continues Ashara, trying to decipher the conversation they just had. 

“Lady Dayne, I must tell you, you do not have an enemy in me. We do what must be done, don’t we?” - his words still a puzzle without the key. - “One last question, Lady Dayne. If the day comes and you have to choose between Elia and princess Rhaenys, whom would you choose?”

Princess Rhaenys is the sweetest child.

But the choice is too easy.

“Elia.” 

“And for that I admire you even more,” - with those words he kisses her hand goodbye, but she holds him still. Her gaze - full of questions, and she cannot find the answer in Jon’s words.

“You mustn’t be afraid, my lady. No one knows, I am the only to guess, and I will keep my silence forever.” 

It doesn’t clear anything, but she goes further.

“How?” - she hopes her voice doesn’t betray that she doesn’t know what she asks of.

“It was smart of all of you. It is peculiar how you look exactly like a mixture of Martells and Targaryens,” - he turns back and leaves. 

A mixture of Martells and Targaryens. The only person, who is a mixture of those two houses is Rhaenys. 

Jon Connington thinks her to be mother of Rhaenys.

Ridiculous.

Brandon Stark comes up to her.

The music is fast, and she would love to see Brandon Stark dancing, properly.

“Would you, lady Dayne, give my brother an honour of dancing with him?” 

Those are not the words she’s expected.

“Are you here for the sake of your brother, Lord Stark?”

Again, she thinks. Even after their walks, and talks.

He looks at her with a smile.

“Why, aren’t you most comfortable around my brother?” - He twists the words she’s said before to tease him.

She thinks that it has become their game. 

Maybe she’s wrong.

But she’s seen the way Brandon Stark looks at her. He is waiting for her to snap.

Oh, but she’s sure he’ll be the first one to do it.

“You are quite right, Lord Stark,” - and she takes him by the elbow.

If he wants her to admit she wants him, and not his brother, which became their game, he’s got a long way to go. Plus, Ashara would love to hear Brandon say that he is always near her, not for the sake of Ned, but for his own.

She can go further.

Which is what she intends to do.

She smiles happily at the cute Ned, and once Brandon lays her hand over his, she easily squeezes one of Ned’s fingers.

_His skin is burning to touch, too._

She makes herself forget all about Brandon, drawing Ned into the talk.

“I do remember saying something about disliking that weird Northern tradition of one brother asking something for the sake of another,” - she makes Ned falter in his steps, and miss the circle of dancers for them to enter. The dance is quite fast, they won’t be able to talk.

“Yes, I remember that,” - his voice is quiet and slow. When she looks at him, she sees how tense Ned holds himself.

Absurdly, she wants to lay her hand over his cheek, but she represses the desire. Why is he tense around her?

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to dance with me, so Brandon took it upon himself,” - there is no stutter or running lines that Ned year ago had. 

“Of course, I would love to dance with you,” - she says before they enter the circle of dancers.

In their walks, she’d been so focused on Brandon. Ned’s older brother easily steals attention with his loud voice and his roaring laughter, his wicked thoughts and jokes. She was not as attentive to the younger wolf. 

And now she chastises herself for that. 

Ned Stark is one of the dearest people she’s ever met, she’s learned that much. He is quiet, but good through and through. 

She would want to be his friend. 

She thinks if it is possible. Why is he tense? A year ago she could toy with the idea that young Ned was in love with her, now the thought seems ridiculous.

She misses some of the steps, being distracted, but when she notices Ned’s worrying gaze on her, makes herself smile, and dances properly.

“You are a good dancer,” - she says to him, in one of the quiet moments of the dance. Her words are a shameless lie, and in the bashful smile of young Stark, she sees that he knows it.

“Thank you, lady Dayne,” - comes his reply. His words are kind. But aren’t they too distant? 

“Invite me to another dance,” - she tells him on a whim. He looks at her, questioning.

“The next dance should be slow, they are the best for conversations,” - she keeps going. She does’t even know what prompts her to behave in such way.

The music comes to an end, and Ned Stark says:

“Would you-” - his words clearly unsure.

“Yes,” - so she doesn’t leave his elbow, and they wait for the songs to start playing, and they are the first people to start dancing when the music plays.

Ashara waits for other couples to fill the space before saying to Ned,

“Have I offended you, Lord Eddard?” - why are you so uncomfortable around me?

He misses the step, and nearly falls, but regains the posture last second.

“No, w-what made you?…” - and, finally, some light from the past, of that little stammering wolf who was so kind to her.

“You were very kind to me year ago, I hoped to repay you, but I feel like my presence annoys you,” - perhaps, she is over-dramatising her feelings.

“No, Lady Dayne, no,” - he shakes his head, as if in disbelief. - “I don’t know why you would think so!” 

She waits for him to explain, and he does it in few moments.

“I thought that last year, _my_ presence was annoying you. So this year I tried to… But you surely know that there is no chance of your presence being unwelcome to me,” - his last words he’s said so sincerely, his fingers tightening on hers, a look in his eyes - none of it leaves any room for the doubt. And then they separate.

Usually she would feel happy when men would confess to her. Not now. Her heart breaks for Ned Stark. She wanted the other brother… But she can’t shake the feeling of Ned Starks’ fingers on hers, his warm skin so pleasing, feels it even when she goes through the changes of partners.

Until she comes face-to-face with prince Rhaegar. 

Abruptly, she thinks who out of them is more beautiful.

And then thinks that she ought to thank the Gods the prince wasn’t born a woman.

But these thoughts cross her mind, undesired, the only ones heard in the sudden whiteness that is her mind.

Pulsing through, her head in just few moments is filled with the singular thought: “Is it Lyanna he dances with?” 

It couldn’t be Elia. She is too tired. 

Only a year ago prince Rhaegar was willing to miss the music and dances for his wife. _But now she cannot carry heirs._

“Whom are you dancing with?” - she hears herself asking. She is very impolite. She doesn’t care.

“We’re both here with the Starks,” - for some reason prince laughs.

In her weird state, she wants to go further, she wants to demand of the prince to explain what he wants from the she-wolf, how low he intends to let Elia fall, so it is good they separate. Should Rhaegar have even a speckle of blood of his father, he’d burn her for those questions.

When she comes back to be opposite of Ned, he notices her expression.

“I am very sorry, my lady. My words were most unwelcome-” - he starts.

“Lord Eddard, we should talk of something else,” - perhaps her words are harsh, and she instantly feels a pang of shame when she sees the hurt in Ned’s eyes. - “What awaits us on the last day of tourney, do you think?” 

She needs to survive the tourney, that is all, she thinks. She knows, right here and now, what she will do to protect Elia. She will talk to him. He must not dishonour her princess.

“Khm… The final day of joust. And the champion will crown the lady of his choice a queen of love and beauty.”

Here it is! The worst Rhaegar can do. And then the tourney will be done, and she will do what is necessary. If Rhaegar needs an heir…

“Who do you think will win?” - she asks eagerly of Ned. It mustn’t be Rhaegar.

“There are few men who will be ready to dismount the prince,” - Ned muses aloud. 

“And those who are ready do not necessarily have the skill. My brother, your brother, Jaime Lannister and the laughing knight…” - she tries to recall how all of them fought. Brandon was ruthless, so powerful. And he is one of the people who wouldn’t be afraid to dismount Rhaegar. Her brother will not dare. He takes his stupid oaths too seriously. 

“The laughing knight did not come to fight my brother today, he isn’t going to ride no more,” - supplies her Ned.

Oh. The laughing knight perhaps would have the guts to dismount the prince. He’s been the most interesting part of the tourney, his grace captivating, and his secret identity magnified the interest of the crowd.

Jaime Lannister has to be the one to do it. He is young enough to not take his new oaths to the heart. Young enough to crave the applause. Good enough to stand against the prince. He is second only to her brother.

“Jaime Lannister fought good, didn’t he?” - she hears the music coming to an end.

“He is gone, or so I heard,” - crashes her Ned. She doesn’t know what he sees on her face upon the news, only that he flinches, like she hurt him.

“Oh, Ned,” - she remembers his words, his sweet words. She doesn’t have the time to deal with it right now, but it feels wrong that she hasn’t been kind, hasn’t given at least anything to the wolfing, - “You’re too good for me.” 

He turns red.

“There is something that you’re worrying of, lady Dayne. I understand it,” - he tells it to her, visibly straining not to let his nervousness get ahold of him. - “If I can be of any help…” 

She knows she cannot be that cruel to him. Ned is unlike any other men who’s been captivated by her, he is too young, too good to be anywhere ready for her games. The time will heal him.

However, as they separate, when Ned touches her fingers one last time with such a tenderness, against her worry about Rhaegar, Elia, against her promise to Doran, she thinks that she doesn’t want the time to heal pure Ned. 

But if she wants to honour the promise to Doran, she cannot even entertain that traitorous thought.

As they come back, Brandon already waits for them, in the last moment, before they come too close to the wild wolf, Ned says to her:

“If there is anyone who can win against Rhaegar tomorrow, it is either your brother or Ser Barristan.” 

“And both sworn to never harm the prince,” - she says bitterly.

“There is always more honour in a fair fight, isn’t there?” - with those words, Ned bids her goodbye, leaving her with Brandon.

“Well, you made it very clear, lady Ashara, as to whom you prefer, for everyone to see,” - Brandon’s voice carries venom. He’s probably just bitter, and green with envy.

She looks at him. And laughs.

What matters the whole game she and Brandon has been playing? 

_Or the feelings Ned harbours for her?_

When the tourney will be done… 

She doesn’t want to think of it.

“Why don’t I show you whom I prefer?” - she whispers it to him. His gaze is surprised. But he is turned on. So she goes out, knowing full well that Brandon Stark follows her.

Tomorrow Rhaegar should not win. And then, in Kings Landing, she will do what is necessary. 

It is disgusting to even think of. She doesn’t want to think of the talk she’ll have to have with Elia. Or Rhaegar.

But today, she is still free.

And she wants Brandon Stark. 

**

She undresses as soon as she enters the chambers, and thinks that the whole game that has been playing, the tension building up - all just comes stumbling down, the exquisite lines they’ve been threading cut loose.

Brandon takes her with the urgency and wildness, she’s learned he does everything with. He is powerful and strong, and she loves being at his mercy as he pounds in her, their hands everywhere, their nails digging into each other.

He is hot to touch, and big to take, and she thinks she’s never wanted any man the way she wanted Brandon Stark. They fight for power, he growls when she begins her movements on him.

Tomorrow, she will have to become someone else. Someone who will honour the promise. Today, is her last day.

Ashara thinks that mostly she needs distraction over one thought playing over and over inside her - of Ned’s words. 

She wondered what it would be like to be loved by him. And now she wonders what it’d be like to live with that love of the quiet wolf, who’s grown to be such a good man.

Brandon looks better than Ned. His body is better than Ned’s. His muscles are hot to touch, and she can’t enough.

Ashara fucks Brandon to destroy something she needs to destroy if she wants to honour Doran.

He is a force of nature. He warms her better than the hot wind of Dorne. His smell is sour and salty, the smell of man, and she fills her mouth with his skin, biting and sucking him, and she can’t get enough.

He meets her the way the ocean waves met her. His hands are hot just like the sand, and they hurt her just like she needs to be hurt. He squeezes her with too much power, uncontrolled. She hits him, and slaps him, and digs her nails into that burning Northern skin, and screams of pain and ecstasy when he does it back.

And after hours and hours of fucking _(gods, she hasn’t known a man can have that much power or endurance)_ , she sings out - her song a moan, a scream, a cry, a whine, she sees the stars dancing because of their wild dance.

 _Ned wouldn’t give her that_ , she hears the whisper inside.

**

Brandon has told her he will not be afraid to dismount Rhaegar, he’s told her he will crown her. A promise, she knows, he will not honour. It was when he was deep inside her, their sweat, saliva and bodies tangled together. She feels possessive of him, wants him to always be there for her, to meet her the way the water, sand and stars are ready to meet her. But he has betrothed.

How can a man be stronger than Brandon, she wonders the day after, when her whole body is filled with the urgency of his lust, and their furious sex.

He meets his enemies and knocks them down, and long after when in the final rounds he meets Rhaegar, she finds that he isn’t tired. His strength and stamina, surely will let him win.

And then, Rhaegar knocks him down.

She freezes over.

The whiteness comes over her yet again, she tries to go down, but she sits next to Elia, and her princess forbids her. Elia gushes over her:

“What is it, Ashara?”

What does her face show that Elia’s voice sounds like that?

When Rhaegar horses again, it is against her brother that the fight goes.

Her brother lets the prince win.

The final round is between Rhaegar and Ser Barristan. The noble knight is more of fool than her brother, so she starts shaking. Elia asks for the maesters, but Ashara fights them all, to see the final fight.

Ser Barristan wins, and when he crowns Ashara the queen of love and beauty, she cries.

**

Elia tells her that she is with child the day they come back to Kings Landing.

Everything worked out fine.

But she is a useless fool. She hasn’t done anything. A stupid brainless girl that Doran should have never trusted.

Brandon Stark comes with them to the Red Keep. Their journey to Kings Landing she needs him so, she cannot stand being away. She needs him daily. Him and that fire inside him.


	3. Secret of House Dayne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, some heads up - I added a very small scene in ch2, which is metioned here. But I tried to make the story flow easily even without reading that scene. So readers who've been here before, can just dive in.
> 
> Second - much like GRRM, who decided to give maesters better medicine than doctors in medieval times have had, for the sake of the characters not dying, I decided to add a bit of psychological knowledge to this world (it is a very minor thing, I promise). It will be very passively mentioned here.
> 
> Oh, and there is a scene in this chapter that I'm not sure if I should tag (I'm fairly sure it should not be triggering, but if you want to check, just go to the end notes, and tell me how to tag it)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: mention of abortion, non-major character death
> 
> And, please be mindful of tags! I updated them!

**282 AC**

Elia’s pregnancy worsens the sickness, and the journey back to the Red Keep exhausts her terribly. Whichever guilt or dread Ashara feels, she pours it all onto Brandon Stark, and he meets her back with an equal force of emotions and strength.

If there are any thoughts left, she drowns them all in the wine that both she and Brandon consume recklessly. And when Ashara has the time to stop and think, she makes herself think of Brandon. 

_Not of Elia and the heir that must be borne._

Ashara wonders what makes Brandon jump with such a drunken fever into her arms, for it becomes clearer that they aren’t consummed by each other, but are running away from the world outside them. They have to hide from everyone. Especially from Ned, for it would be too cruel of Ashara. 

But Rickard Stark sometimes watches her with such a weird face, Ashara wonders if it is for the heart of his second son that he despises her, or for seducing his first, betrothed and heir.

The get few days in the Red Keep, and Brandon gives her the sword to fight of her demons, punishing her more and harder. For Elia’s sickness grows with her belly, and punishes Elia more and harder.

Brandon calls Ashara the rightful queen. Queen of love and beauty.

And then he was gone, his father demanding Brandon to be back, at Winterfell.

**

Ashara loses herself then in the care for her princess, and finds a bigger remedy in that, than in sex with Brandon. Some days she finds herself thankful for his departure, for now she has the time to take care of her duties. How awfully inconvenient his presence has been. The drunken haze fades. 

It was only when Elia prematurely delivered Aegon ( _thank all the Gods, it was a boy!_ Ashara sang inside), that Ashara noticed she is pregnant.

And when she held the child of Elia in her arms, all while Elia had to fight for her life, maesters warning that even if the princess is to survive, she can never bear another child, Ashara could not summon the courage to kill the child inside her.

Elia, as soon as she got better and learned of Ashara’s pregnancy, sent her back home.

“Write him,” - she urged Ashara. - “Write him and tell him. Who else will match your fire?” 

So she did. Elia gave Rhaegar an heir, so Ashara was free to go. Rhaegar’s madness now only needed the dragons. An impossible dream, so why worry?

The letter finds her when she gets back to Starfall. 

It is sent to her brother, and it is an invitation to Brandon Stark's wedding with Catelyn Tully.

She gets only a couple of days to mourn. But those days are filled with the despair and pain to great to be endurable. Her journey home was a terrible nightmare, and it falls short compared to the torment she feels in those days.

She recalls those drunken days of the journey back to Harrenhall, she - barely thinking, so filled with desire, unaware of the world around.

She went back to Starfall, a place she thought Brandon Stark would come to for them to get married.

Instead, she received the invitation to his wedding. It was answer enough.

_But some days she thought her pride was hurt more, didn’t she feel a bit of relief?_

That must have been her mind trying to fight off the pain.

She told herself she loved Brandon Stark. She told herself her heart was broken.

Letter from Arthur that comes few days later brings her out of her despair.

From her pool of pain and the broken heart, she is thrown into the madness.

Arthur tells her that he is going with prince Rhaegar to Winterfell. Prince intends to go to the wedding.

She screams - her scream an angry shrill that raises her hair, and makes all the maids come running to her. They try to get the letter out of her hands, but she holds her hands so tense, the letter comes ripped apart in three pieces. 

People come all around her, saying something, touching her, so she runs out.

She doesn’t even know where she goes, just away from everyone.

Her blood is drumming loudly, beating out a rhythm for her steps and thoughts.

Rhaegar is going to the North for Lyanna. What is to happen there? If one Stark decides to marry, why not the another one too?

He is Targaryen. He can take as many wives as he can.

What is to happen with Elia then? Her sweet princess, who is so weakened. It was his children that ripped apart Elia’s body.

**

When Ashara comes back to Starfall, all of her previous melancholy is vaporised. 

She writes the letter to Lyanna Stark, inviting her to come visit Dorne, to become her maiden for the time being, and for her to feel free to bring one of her brothers to come as well, to ensure the safety of the travel, and as many men as she needs. She makes it sound like she wants to prepare Lyanna to take her place at the court, with Elia.

The brother bit she adds to play on the rumour that arose when she walked the castle with Stark brothers. That Brandon was there to look over the courtship of Ned and Ashara. For anyone, including, hopefully, Stark patriarch, that letter would look like she is inviting Ned, and Lyanna only as an afterthought. For who else can Ashara mean? Brandon who is preparing to get married, or a child of three and ten that cannot protect the young lady?

It is scandalising, she knows it. Northerners would think she is mad to be luring Ned Stark in such a plain sight, as if she cannot wait any longer. But she is Dornish. They will say it is her hot blood, it is their savage ways. But lord Rickard will not refuse. He might think his daughter should not go to Dorne on the whim of some Dayne, and miss the wedding of her brother. But he will think his son will have to take responsibility for the savage girl gone mad with love.

Lyanna Stark answers that she and her brother Ned would be happy to come visit the legendary Starfall.

And few days later, comes the letter from Arthur. He is coming home. And prince, his long time friend, is coming to the Starfall too.

She expected this. And yet, she curses the prince. Gods damn him!

What is Elia’s fault to be disrespected in such way?

Only that she is now barren.

She remembers what she was going to do after the Harrenhall tourney. When Elia gave birth to Aegon, her sacrifice became redundant. And to think that she even cursed herself for her uselessness. For her inability to honour the promise she’s given.

The Gods are giving her the chance to redeem herself. 

_She wants to be useless again. She wants to be lost in the drunken fever, and in sex, wants to have the freedom to give herself for her instincts._

She drinks tansy and looses her child. She mourns it, but who knows how much time she has for it, for Lyanna and Ned come to Starfall.

**

She meets them at the gates, Lyanna - still a child that should not be a competition for Elia, and Ned… He is a man grown now.

“The waters were kind for you?” - the legend goes that the waters surrounding the castle are magical and do not let the unwanted guests inside the Starfall easily.

“Aye,” - answers her Ned, but she sees the paleness of his face, and the tired slump over Lyanna’s body, that leaks her usual grace away.

She watches carefully over Lyanna. It is not only her grace that leaks away. The water droplets fall from her hair.

“Gods, has she been swimming?!” - she says at the same time as Ned goes:

“It is an honour to see you again, lady Dayne-”, his tone so restrained, she lifts her eyes onto Ned. But he has already turned to his sister, and laughs.

“My sister got thrown overboard. Lyanna was most eager to see the castle,” - he explains, humoured.

“You must come with me,” - Ashara orders, while telling Ned to go and meet her brother. 

“It is winter, after all,” - says Ashara when she tugs Lyanna to follow her.

“Dornish winter is nothing compared to the Northern,” - replies Lyanna, but follows her nevertheless.

Ashara finds herself surprised by the sound of Lyanna’s voice. She hasn’t expected it to be low.

“So I heard,” - Ashara drops Lyanna’s hand, thinking she’s behaving too inappropriately. 

“It is a very beautiful place,” - tells her Lyanna, looking at the golden walls of Starfall, and through the windows that they pass by onto the mountains, sea and forrests.

Ashara smiles.

“Thank you, lady Stark. How is Starfall compared to Winterfell?” 

Lyanna pauses for so long that Ashara fears she hadn’t heard her.

When she replies, she does it thoughtfully.

“Gold, and tall. And small. And please call me Lyanna. It is my mother who is lady Stark, after all.” 

Ashara makes the way to her chambers and, tells her handmaiden to fetch a dress for Lady Lyanna, blue one.

“I heard Winterfell to be the biggest of the castles. North is the biggest of all Seven Kingdoms. You, Northerners, have a weird fascination with the sizes, you are aware of it?” - Ashara sits on her bed.

Lyanna Stark releases a giggle.

“Please tell that to my brother Brandon.” 

The words of the child, like a needle, pierce Ashara’s heart. But she makes herself smile.

“So Brandon has a weird fascination with sizes, you say? Oh, poor Catelyn Tully,” - though Ashara knows Catelyn is not going to be disappointed in her bedding.

Lyanna covers her mouth, her eyes - equal parts scandalised and delighted. She is a child, reminds herself Ashara.

Ashara wonders how her brother is going to find Ned Stark. And she must introduce Lyanna to Allyria, they are closer of age.

“How old are you, Lady Lyanna?” 

“I am ten and six, Lady Dayne.” 

A bit older, than Ashara thought her to be, but she sees it, as Lyanna changes her dress. The moment caught between a girl and a woman that what Lyanna Stark is.

“My brother is having a feast in honour of you, we must come. Tomorrow we could spend the day, exploring the castle and the forrest nearby,” - Ashara makes the plans out loud. She invited Lyanna Stark, she should entertain her.

“Yes, Lady Dayne,” - Lyanna emerges from the hands of the handmaiden, beautiful and blue. 

“And when Arthur comes, Uther plans on having a haunt,” - that’s when Rhaegar will come. He will, no doubt, spend the day haunting.

“My brother Ned would like it,” - Lyanna smiles.

“Your brother Ned…” - Ashara makes her way out of the chambers, and Lyanna follows close behind. 

Lyanna suddenly stops her, and leans close to whisper:

“My brother Ned does not have a fascination with the sizes,” - words barely containing the laughter.

Ashara turns to Lyanna, an uncertain smile tugging her lips.

And she understands those words, only when she and Lyanna continue making their way. 

The tables are made in the Great Hall, the feast is on it’s way, and they make their way to the table where Uther, his wife, Allyria and Ned Stark sit.

Lyanna curtsies in front of her family, and when Ashara repeats the movement, directed at Ned Stark, meeting his eyes sends a lighting across her body.

She absent-mindedly eats the food in front of her, while Allyria entertains Lyanna, and her brother talks to Ned Stark.

Ned Stark today looks much like Brandon Stark looked the first day she met him. He is big, and dark. But his hair are less wild, and the grey of his eyes does not have the mischief of Brandon of the past. 

He is handsome, thinks Ashara.

Lyanna Stark thinks Ashara is to be her sister. Was it Ned Stark, who’s given her the idea? No, it was Ashara who gave her the idea. Does Ned want?-

But she can’t afford to think that way.

The day after tomorrow Rhaegar comes.

If Brandon Stark was cruel to her, she repays the debt to his family fully. She is especially cruel to Ned Stark. 

A wave of self-loathing consumes her.

But she reminds herself - it must be done. 

Elia is her princess, Doran has asked her to promise.

“Are you alright, Lady Dayne?” - asks her Ned Stark in a low voice.

Sweet, sweet Ned.

“Yes, thank you, my lord.” 

She feels the gaze of her brother. What does he think? She’s never been close to Uther, doesn’t even know what he’s like. But he agreed to her idea of Starks coming so easily.

“How was the journey, Lord Eddard?” - Ashara makes herself play the game of the court.

Lyanna laughs, and hurries to answer the question.

“I think the only journey sweeter for Ned, would be the journey back,” - with a child’s carelessness she sends all of them into uncomfortable silence. Ashara can’t make herself look at Ned, but she guesses that he yanks his little sister to sit back, based on a little yelp that comes from Lyanna.

Uther and his wife take over the conversation, and Ashara tells them about her plans of letting the guests see the castle and everything near it, and they spend the rest of the dining making plans for the days to come and entertainment the guests could await.

Ashara resolutely does not look at Ned Stark. It might be the hardest thing she’s ever done.

**

 _What should I do?_ \- Ashara asks herself yet again. 

The morning comes and they go for a planned walk through the forrest.

The day is brilliant, the type of days that only are possible in the Dornish winter - the clear air with an occasional chilling wind, and the sun high up in the sky warming them up from it.

Uther decided to stay at the castle, to overlook the preparations for the visit of prince, so it is only four of them on the walk - Allyria, Lyanna, she and Ned.

Ashara tries to stay close to the girls, and tries to keep up with their chatter, and silly girly jokes, and resolutely does not look at Ned Stark.

But the girls are giggling, poking fun at the two of them, her own sister deigns her with an advice: “There’s no need to be shy, Shara,” with the feeling of a new-found dignity that Lyanna Stark, an older friend, gives her, and then they run away from the two of them, claiming to be going to chase the rabbits, and she is left alone with Eddard Stark.

“Maybe, we should- ” - she is about to suggest they should go back to castle, when she finally looks at Ned. He looks so young, and insecure, and faces her with such a despair in his eyes, that she stutters.

Oh, how she wants to be good for Ned! 

“Ned,” - she stretches her arm to touch him. He steps closer and lets her hand grip his elbow. She tenderly smoothes the material there. Ashara thinks she can feel the heat of his skin. She has to restrain herself from stepping closer and closer, to hug Ned fully, to reassure him… - “Is everything alright?”

She watches how Ned gets a hold of himself, and the previous look disappears underneath the mask of respect.

“Yes, Lady Dayne,” - Ashara thinks she imagines the crack in the sound of Ned’s voice.

“Please call me Ashara,” - she breathes out, and shows Ned Stark the road ahead of them. They start going, their position a reminiscent of their first proper talk in Kings Landing.

She tries to think of something they can talk about. She doesn’t want to think about Ned’s family right now, or about her family, or about the royal family.

“Your friend, Robert, fought well on the tourney,” - Ashara remembers her surprise when she realised that the wild Baratheon was closest friend of the quiet wolf.

“Aye, he did,” - Ashara hears a smile in Ned’s speech.

“How did you two become friends?"

“We’ve been both fostered at the Valley by Jon Arryn,” - weirdly, Ashara misses the stutter of a younger Ned. 

“I’ve always dreamed of going to Valley,” - she thinks back to the time when Arthur first came back home after swearing his oaths. He told her all about the Seven Kingdoms, she loved it so much. 

Arthur told her that the climb to the Valley took days to make, up and up, and up. Ashara was always fascinated with the heights. She and Arthur both were. That’s why they would play so much in the Palestone Sword tower. When Ashara was so high up there, so close to the skies, she felt like she is truly one of the stars.

Ned shows her a rabbit that came so close to them, and they appreciate the beauty of nature in silence. Ashara wonders if Ned is as captivated by the leaves catching the sun-rays, by the smell of freshness that always fills the air in the winter, by the birds, that came here, sure as always, to pass the winter, filling the air with their merry tweeting.

Ashara decides to take the road that leads to the meadow, Allyria surely would show Lyanna the way there. With Ned carrying the food for their picnic, they ought to feast there.

“With Brandon marrying Catelyn, I thought it would be best for me to leave Winterfell. Soon they’ll have children of their own…” - a white sound clouds Ashara’s ears upon hearing those sudden words from Ned. A thought that passes through is not filled with pain, but with shame. 

_Does Ned know?_

“I thought I could find a place of my own at Jon’s,” - the words are barely comprehensible in Ashara’s mind.

“Sounds great,” - she manages.

Did Brandon tell his little brother how he fucked her? Ashara, when she manages to think of it straight, realises it is almost impossible. Such man as Ned Stark would never talk to her in such a respectful manner, if Brandon said something of a kind.

And, weirdly, the bit of pain that has been torturing her, dissolves. 

It is better not to think of it.

Rhaegar comes tomorrow, he rides all across the country, haunting Lyanna, like a mad man he is, all while Elia is still weak after Aegon’s birth.

And she, Ashara, is equally mad with the idea that she can do something about it. What is she compared to the Dragon Prince?

“What about the time when Jon’s heirs will come to the fruition? Will you look for another place yet again?” - Ashara tries to not let her mind wander and get lost. She is here, they are close to the meadow, and the sun is high up. Ned Stark and the talk with him is her main duty at the moment.

Ashara thinks she can see the beauty of a life that is opening up in front of Ned - life in Valley, and then the journey somewhere else. The second son of such a great house will always be welcomed, in this country, or in the ones across the Narrow Sea.

“Jon doesn’t have heirs yet.” 

Ashara wonders whom would the Valley go to, should the line of Arryns end.

She sees the meadow, not to far from them, and leans closer to Ned to tell him:

“Over there is the place where we usually have picnics, I’m sure Allyria will bring your sister there in no time.” 

Ned stops. Ashara makes a step forward, but noticing the pause, looks back to see Ned with a conflicted face.

She has to suppress the need to touch his cheek. _It happened before, didn’t it?_

“Are you alright?” - she can’t help herself, and her voice betrays her. She hopes that Ned, in his state, doesn’t notice how gentle she speaks. Much like the birds who came here reveal that Dorne has no idea what it means to know winter, her words in the softness and tenderness reveal all the feelings she has.

“I’m sorry, Lady Dayne, but I was hoping to get a few more moments with you, alone,” - Ned starts.

“Yes, my lord,” - her words quaver, and it sounds like a question. She fights every part of her body that wants to touch Ned, and reassure the man.

“You know of my feelings for you, Lady D- Ashara,” - the sound of her name voiced by Ned steals her breath away. - “I would like to… I would… Will you marry me, Lady… Ashara?”

She feels her eyes watering, because she has to remind herself of Elia and of Doran. She can’t even think of it as of a real thing. She has never allowed herself to think in that way about Ned.

Gods, how she deserves to burn in Seven Hells.

She makes herself think of her drunken endeavour with Ned’s brother. How could she marry that noble man, even without her promise to Doran?

“It is my fault,” - she starts explanation, but it is hard, because the breath comes out of her in the spasms. - “I’m so sorry, Ned, I’m so very sorry.” 

She wants to continue, but when she blinks the tears away, she sees the terror on the face of Ned, and he is close to her in the next moment. His hands fly near her, but do not touch her, and it becomes unbearable to be so close without a touch, but she has to hold herself still, even if everything inside her begs her to hug Ned.

“It is not… what is that you are saying, my lady?”

She shakily gives out her hand, because she is genuinely worried for Ned. He grips it with both of his hands. What a beautiful touch, Ashara thinks, and cannot stop her fingers from going over the calloused hands. Ned breathes out when she does it, and she sees how he looks at her hand in his. He relaxes the grip, and the blood floods back to her fingers.

“It is my fault… I wrote the letter to your father, that’s why you believed, Gods, Ned,” - she tries to remember what she thought of when she wrote the letter to invite Lyanna. Did she stop to think, even for a moment of the feelings of Ned that she would inevitably crush?

“No, no, please, Lady Dayne, you must calm… Please let us sit,” - Ned walks her over to a stump, she sits, and Ned sits in front of her on his knees, their eyes on one level. They are close enough for her to lean in, and steal his breath and taste his lips. _Rhaegar, Doran,_ she reminds herself. And when it doesn’t work - _Elia_.

“My father has told me that you wrote to us twice,” - twice, Ashara thinks. Her mind picks up and focuses on smallest details, because thinking of everything that is bound to happen as whole will break her.

“But it wasn’t your letters that made me decide… At the tourney of Harrenhall, maybe even before.. when you allowed me to walk you back to your chambers in Kings Landing. I came back from the Harrenhall tourney, and I knew that the next time I would get the chance. I wanted for us to know each other better, but I didn’t know how. And then my father said something that made me hope… it might be possible. I wasn’t going to… But your brother has implied,” - Ned worries, his hands squeeze hers. What a good man he is, Ashara realises yet again.

How lucky she is to have him in love with her.

How terribly unlucky he is to love her.

“Now I see that I hurried in my conclusions, and it is me who has to be asking for forgiveness. It was so naive of me,” - the last words he spits more at him, than at her. 

How can she not?

She tells to Ned:

“No, not that naive,” - because it is the truth. Everyone would think so, and everyone would be right. 

He looks at her, his eyes looking for something, desperate.

This is the moment for her to place her hand onto Ned’s cheek, but she doesn’t.

Not yet.

 _Why?_ she asks herself. Because Doran really expected her to fight against the Kingsguard? What is she compared to prince? What is she compared to this country, what can she do or change? 

Why not secure her happiness? Why does she has to decline her wishes for some game of shadows?

She doesn’t have to. 

But she has to try.

Rhaegar comes tomorrow, she will speak to him about her plan, she will try to stop him from hurting Elia more.

“Give me time,” - she asks of Ned. He looks at her questioningly, but when she gently goes over his hands, she sees the understanding spreading over his face. His mouth goes slack.

He jerkily nods. Ashara wants to kiss him.

Ned probably wouldn’t like it. 

So she lifts his hands and places one tender kiss on his fingers. She really can’t help herself here.

Ned turns red, and Ashara wonders how many traditions she managed to break in that simple act.

Why would a man like Ned, so honourable, so good, a man with such a high respect for traditions fall for her? She doesn’t think he is a man easily captivated by looks. What else she has?

They sit in silence for so long that Ashara starts worrying for Ned’s knees. They do nothing, and try not to look at each other, Ned - because of quite obvious embarrassment, but when they do look into each other’s eyes, they both bashfully smile. Ashara thinks that she can hear the thoughts running through Ned’s head in the way he looks around, and opens his mouth only to close it again when he looks at her. She thinks back to his words: “I wanted for us to know each other better”, and wonders if Ned Stark understands that this silent moment explains to her clearer than any words the type of a man that Ned Stark is.

She tries not to let her mind wander too far in the dreams of moments like this one that might await her in the future.

Even if Rhaegar will decline her ridiculous offer, there is Brandon Stark and the child she’s gotten rid of. There is the case of two letters that Rickard Stark has received.

Thankfully, she doesn’t get the time to lose her mind completely in the puzzles of Rickard, Brandon and her letters, or in trying to read the future in the merry tweeting of birds that would tell her the actions of the Dragon Prince, or in fighting back the sweet dreams that warm touch of Ned’s hands promise. Or in all of them, twisting together inside her, all at once. Because she hears the voices of Allyria and Lyanna, close to meadow.

She and Ned simultaneously stand up and smile before going to meadow. Reluctantly, Ashara leaves her hands out of reach. She thinks Ned would like it, to have everything right and proper. And it would be better not to give girls more reasons to giggle at them.

The food the handmaidens packed is good. They eat the crusty bread with tomatoes, sauces and tender meat of shrimp, and the cherry pie, and the late-winter berries that girls picked, watering it down with the sparkling lemon-water. 

Ashara insists on sitting down after such a feast, feeling herself dozing off, as it often happens when she overeats.

In the days coming she will come back to the pureness of emotions she’s felt here - content.

She will go over the feeling of her stomach being full, and to the slow journey back. The girls running far in front of her and Ned, strangely considerate, giving them the much needed space.

Some days it will feel like that would be the only true goodness ever happened to her.

Ned would give her an elbow, and she, tired from their journey, and air and tears and hope, has placed her head onto his shoulder. Some days she will curse herself for the opportunity lost - to get to know Ned, and talk to him. Others - she would be happy she hasn’t ruined her perfect moment filled more with dreams than reality.

**

Back in her chambers, she dozed off, and awoke the next morning with the first rays of sun.

She noticed the lone horse ahead of the road, and ran outside, sure it was Arthur.

Her brother would tell her the merry news - that Prince Rhaegar stayed with Elia.

“Why are you riding alone?”

“Have you gone mad, Lady Ashara?” - Prince Rhaegar dismounted the horse, and gave her his cloak. - “It is a winter.” 

Ashara could not think of a single reason as to why Rhaegar would come here alone, and her brother would not.

“Where’s Arthur?”

“Please calm, Lady Dayne,” - Rhaegar helped her get onto the horse, that he then led to the Starfall. - “Elia has journeyed back to Sunspear, I have sent your brother to check her.” 

Elia is in Dorne? And Rhaegar has sent her brother to check her, instead of going there himself?

Perhaps it was the early morning that still hasn’t released her from the dreamland that made her speak in the way she did. Perhaps, it was a hope to repulse Rhaegar, a desperate attempt to sabotage the plan she’s had, because she’s had a life opening in front of her.

“Is it Lyanna you need?” - her voice strangely calm and clear like the morning in front of them. They were all alone in the grey light of dawn.

Prince hasn’t answered her. But Ashara was bolded enough by the lack of fury.

"If you love that wild Northern girl, take her. But do not dishonour Elia. Take that wild girl as your mistress, but do not dishonour the Dorne. Don’t you see it, Rhaegar? The country will rip itself apart if you do. Take her the way your father took Tywin’s wife", - a rumour, but she knows it a truth.

"What do you need Lyanna for?”

Another long pause. But why is he hesitating to place her back to her place?

"Prince Rhaegar, I’m on your side. Tell me everything and I will not betray you. But tell me so that I could do whatever you need to have done in a way that wouldn’t harm Elia.”

Gods know why he answers.

“The dragon has three heads. I need a third child.” 

“Does it matter that much who will carry the third child?” 

This is the first time she feels how the two of them start understanding each other. Ashara wonders if Rhaegar thought of it before. 

“Do you know what Jon once said? That I look almost exactly like a mixture of Martells and Targaryens,” - Connington, that loyal dog of Rhaegar. Of course, Rhaegar thought of it before. - “Funny, isn’t it, how accurate he is?” 

“Will you do it to Elia? In the eyes of the world, you will protect her, but she will carry the burden alone…” - Rhaegar stops the horse in front of Starfall’s gates, so that they would get this last minutes all alone in the world.

Ashara thinks back to the wedding feast of Elia’s, when her princess was so happy with the hope of love in front of her. Two years in Red Keep changed so many things. Ashara thinks back to the last moment when she’s seen her princess - her body ripped apart by the child, her last words to Ashara - an attempt to give her a happy ending, a love Elia will never know.

Funny, Ashara thinks, how such beautiful man as Rhaegar can be so undeserving of love. Why has Ashara spent such a big part of her life, dancing around her beauty?

“Elia will do whatever it is that must be done to protect Dorne and the Westeros.” 

_Unlike you._

“And you will do whatever it must be done to protect Elia and Dorne?”

“And you will do whatever it must be done to have Targaryens great again. We all are not too different.” 

She has Rhaegar smiling at her, and feels sick to the stomach. What has she done?

And, though she fights it with every single bit of her power, she thinks - Ned…

“It is better for us to leave to Sunspear in a sennight, that time should be sufficient…” - she can’t make herself say it. Ten and four days.

“There will be rumours,” - warns her Rhaegar. He still hasn’t disagreed. 

“No. Elia and I are not going to leave the conjoined rooms in the Sunspear, and we will have most loyal servant tending us.” 

“Nine months, Lady Ashara, of being a prison of the same room with a dying friend.” 

Those last words bite her, and suck her soul.

Rhaegar notices it.

“Aye, her sickness is getting worse day after day. I suspected that was the reason she has left for Dorne.” 

She fights herself, but she wants to scream and kill Rhaegar on the spot. She wants to go and hide inside her room. She wants to tell all her sorrows to her older brothers and have them deal with all her problems. She wants to destroy herself.

Rhaegar has a sick wife, bearer of his children, mother of his heir, and he came here instead of going to her. How terrible a person can be?

She, with the mercy of Gods, gathers the power to say at last:

“We will start today.” 

And then she goes through the gates of her home, with the sun drowning all the stars in front of her.

She knows she should go to Ned, immediately. Since Rhaegar has agreed to her proposal, the Starks have to leave. She thinks of the lies she could feed to Ned, anything to make him realise how not-good she is, anything to make him see the fault is not his.

She opens Lyanna’s chambers.

Thankfully, the girl has already wakened, and she asks of Ashara:

“Has something happened, Lady Dayne?”

“Prince Rhaegar has come with the news of princess. I’m afraid, we will have to ride to Sunspear as soon as possible. I think it would be for the best for you and your brother to leave.” 

Lyanna looks shocked, and Ashara feels the spurge of an anger towards the young girl. Everything is happening because of her.

“But my brother-”

Ashara can’t talk of Ned, not with Lyanna.

“Do you take me for a fool? Prince is here, Lyanna,” - and the girl has the right to look confused.

Could she really be that deft? A voice inside starts a quiet whisper that Lyanna is young, and could be naive. The whisper easily drowns underneath the drumming sound of her shame. She should be explaining herself in front of Eddard Stark, and she has decided to place the burden upon the shoulders of a young child.

She knows she is unfair, but she is so mad. At the world, at Doran, at Rhaegar and everyone Targaryen, and she only has this young girl here with her.

“Did you really not understand how big of a fool prince was making of Elia because of you? What was it that you wanted? A crown and power?” - Ashara makes herself not hear words: “No, no,” escaping Lyanna. - “Did you not see the war that could happen because of you?” 

Could there ever be a war?

The intrigues in the Red Keep were always made up to be seeming so grande, but what were they in reality - some whispers passed by the dancers? How could the whispers start the war? Ashara thinks she was a fool for thinking there is something bigger in all the talk, promises and secrets. Doran, Jon, Rhaegar made her think that way. Perhaps, they fooled her. Perhaps, it is time for her to fool someone back.

Lyanna grabs a hold of herself, though it is visibly hard, and Ashara, despite herself, respects the she-wolf for it.

“Lady Dayne…” 

Ashara cuts her off, thinking that any talk would be unbearable at the moment.

“Please, you must leave. Farewell, Lady Stark.” 

And then she goes out and out and out, climbs the mountains, and screams so hard she’s not afraid of any beastly animal coming to her, for she feels ready to tear apart anyone who would dare to cross her pass.

** 

It is good that she spends out everything, it is good that she is tired when the night comes, and Rhaegar lets him inside her chambers.

She thinks he asks her of something, but the words or her answers don’t stay. She only has the thought of the upcoming thing. 

He undresses. Prince is exceptionally handsome, in some other life, she could desire him. 

But in this one, he is Elia’s husband.

And here, she has had a chance with…

This thought has to go out, fully and completely if she wants to go through with this thing, and if she wants to survive after it.

When Rhaegar lies on top of her, and begins the movement, his face never giving anything that he feels away. Ashara thinks he tries to keep their familiar chatter, and she struggles to keep up. He, weirdly, treats her as if she is his friend. As if they are together in the new game.

She doesn’t really keep up, only says monosyllables and hums. She can’t help but to feel so repulsed. By him, her, and the entire situation.

And what gives her the strength to continue is the sense of duty.

Who said it to her? That a country might rip itself apart…

If Rhaegar is too blinded by his dreams, if Elia is too weakened and lays on the deathbed, if Doran is too far to do anything, and even if other great men are too ignorant to make a difference, Ashara must do her best to try to prevent it.

She knows it might be ridiculous idea - of her, a girl, trying to save the country, by what? Laying in bed. How is it a sacrifice? Rhaegar is the dream of many.

And yet, it is the only thought that she holds on to. The only thought that lets her lay still. 

Because otherwise, she would rip Rhaegar’s hands that hold her shoulders, and she would run until she would meet Lord Eddard Stark again, and beg him to take her.

**

By the time she and Rhaegar are ready to go to Dorne, Ashara is almost sure she is with a child.

She thinks of an explanation to Elia that she would have to say.

_It is better for your children. It is better for country. It is better for Dorne. And it is better for you._

And yet, when she sees Elia - her face so pale and withered, and her friend whispers happily to her: “He’s come here? He’s back here for me and children?”, Ashara thinks she can hear the question underneath - _He’s not going to Lyanna?_

Maybe she is lying to herself. Maybe Elia knows nothing of Rhaegar and Lyanna.

Ashara answers:

“Yes, he is back here for you and your children.” 

She knows she will have to explain her steadily swelling body, but she intends to do it slowly, over time. When Elia is better.

But her princess isn’t getting better. She only gets worse and worse, and by the time Ashara starts showing, Elia is too high on fever to see anything around her.

Ashara doesn’t know what she must do, if Elia is to die before she gives birth, and it is the maester sent by Doran, that tells her of the plan.

Ashara goes to Doran and asks him what would be the point. Elia is to die. Ashara was supposed to protect her, and she can’t protect her from that terrible sickness.

Doran tells her, she has to do it for Elia’s legacy and memory, for Elia’s children, for Dorne, and all the Westeros.

When she lays in bed and hears Elia’s moans through the wall, Ashara thinks that Doran has an exceptionally dry mind, free from emotions. And yet, she knows his mind is great, so she trusts him. She does it for Elia’s legacy, for Elia’s children, for Dorne and for all the Seven Kingdoms.

She’s heard of the childbirth being a terrible nightmare and pain. The day Elia dies, by the plan of Doran, Ashara drinks a potion that makes her childbirth begin.

She thinks her pain is greater than of any mother before her. For one, she pushes the child that isn’t ready to be borne, and he fights back, he wants to stay inside for a longer moment. Secondly, how terrible it is to carry a child that you were so careful not to love, from a man who is repulsive to you. And thirdly, she has to push the child through the pain of losing her dearest friend.

Rhaegar comes, and Ashara doesn’t have the strength to scream at him to make him go away, so she listens to him lulling Elia’s third child.

Aegon, Rhaenys, and now Visenya.

Rhaegar shows Visenya to Ashara, and when she holds the child, she says:

“She has Elia’s hair.” 

“And my skin and eyes,” - adds Rhaegar. 

Ashara watches the child until she opens her eyes. The violet colour of them could pass for Targaryen purple. It is good enough. Ashara gives the child for the nurses to feed.

Elia has given Rhaegar the great trio. He can now begin his work on redeeming the greatness, or bringing the dragons.

Elia is now dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene that I meant is the sex between Ashara/Rhaegar. They both give their consent for the sex, and nothing forceful happens, but I mentioned Ashara feeling repulsed. (It starts with the quote: "It is good that she spends out everything" and ends with "and beg him to take her". both are within ** brackets)


	4. Secret of House Stark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for this chapter: a brief mention of possibility of suicide, and another non-major character death.

**283 AC**

Rhaegar leaves with the children, and Ashara is left in the mourning Dorne. 

It is good to be around Arthur, Oberyn and Doran, for they all understand each other, and the pain they will have to bear for the rest of their lives.

The colours are dull, the music becomes random sounds without the line or a thought to unite them. Same happens to everything, same happens to the life itself. Life was only good when Elia was here.

When the letter from Lyanna comes, Ashara is so deep inside the pain, it has murdered all her feelings. Occasionally, throughout that time without Elia, in the sudden moments of clarity and self-awareness, she has been asking herself if she will ever feel anything. If there is anything in the life that will stir her. 

“Lady Dayne,

You were right. You were the only one to see it coming. I don’t know what to do.

Please come. Or else, I’m afraid, the war might happen.

Lyanna.” 

Ashara’s mind is so slow these days, that she thinks she made the letter from Lyanna up. It sounds the way her demons might talk, not the girl who was so graceful in blue. 

She sleeps on the letter, and eats on the letter. She walks with Arthur across the castle, and tells herself she has made the letter up. It didn’t actually exist. It doesn’t make sense anyway.

Arthur tells her he has to go back to the Red Keep. He is still a sworn knight. He asks her to come there with him.

“What will I do there?” - in that haunted terrible castle. Near mad men.

“You could help with the children?”

Ashara doesn’t let herself think of Elia and Rhaegar’s children.

“Prince has just returned from the wedding of Brandon and Catelyn. Ned Stark is probably going to look for a new place.” 

She trembles at the sound of Ned’s name. And yet, there still is something more important, her frozen mind knows it.

“Prince went to the wedding?” - she thinks about Lyanna’s letter. She still doesn’t understand. Well, maybe she does. Maybe she fights back this understanding. She just wants to mourn Elia, that is it.

“I believe so.” 

Ashara thinks that in the life before she would get mad. In the life before Elia’s death, she would get angry the moment she received Lyanna’s letter. Here and now, she only feels exhaustion. 

When will it end?

That stupid promise to Doran. Why should she honour it, still? Elia is dead.

Ashara knows why.

For Elia’s children. For Dorne, and all Seven Kingdoms.

Ashara tells to Arthur that Lyanna Stark has asked her to come to the Winterfell. Arthur smiles at that. Ashara knows what he thinks of.

_Ned._

Arthur thinks of her happiness, and she is glad to know that the first emotion that blooms inside her through the pain, is the love she has for her brother. 

Arthur is good, honest and noble. His decision to follow the oaths were made because he was thinking of the greater good. 

Ashara is his sister, same blood running through her veins. There is not point in trying to see whether the greater good exists, or if she can help the course of things running. She has to do what she thinks is right.

Arthur agrees to go to the Winterfell with her.

**

The journey up North through the winter is hard and long. And Ashara finds some resemblance of peace in the hardships that she and Arthur go through. The nature reflects her, or so it seems to Ashara. The land is grey, and seemingly dead, a rare animal so terrified they only see them from afar. The snow highlights the last bits of their journey, it blinds the eyes and hides the roads.

Ashara has never seen the snow before. 

She hasn’t known it would be so beautiful. 

The whiteness of it is blinding, but she cannot believe that such a gentle force like the snowflakes that melt on her eyelashes and on her palm, would have such terrifying strength.

When Arthur tells her they have entered the North, Ashara feels relieved that the journey is near done. But it isn’t. North is too big to comprehend it, they move day after day, one day after another one, the occasional storm sometimes making them hide inside the brothels with their people for days, before getting the chance to continue the journey.

The Winterfell seems much closer when Ashara sees it. Apparently, it is only because it is much bigger than the castles she has seen before. They, luckily, make it to the castle before another storm gathers the strength.

Brandon Stark comes to meet them at the gates.

In some other life, he has hurt her, humiliated her. In some other life, she used to fret the power he’s had over her life.

In the life here, when she dismounts and Brandon comes up to her and hugs her, she, even if surprised, hugs him back.

“Where’s Lyanna?” - she whispers.

Brandon flinches, and when he lets her go, she sees his face, agony clear on it.

She knows that face, so she isn’t surprised when Brandon tells her and Arthur:

“Lyanna has died,” - and yet, she still feels pain. What has her world became? A whimper leaves Arthur, and she feels how her brother stumbles a bit, strung with the sentence as if it was aimed at him through the bow. She holds him close to her, and lets her arms support him.

Brandon shows them their rooms, and when he is left alone with Ashara, he asks of her:

“Ned is here. Do you wish to see him?”

This isn’t even a little close to anything she had expected.

“No.” 

Brandon doesn’t ask for more, but he doesn’t leave her. She is confused by him. Doesn’t recognise him. 

“Lyanna has been asking for you,” - he says at last.

“What has she died from?” - she hopes her words wouldn’t hurt Brandon too much, but she can’t really play the rules of court.

Brandon looks conflicted, but he answers her still.

“It was a fever…” - and Ashara thinks she has never seen a liar worse than Brandon Stark.

“Has the child survived?” - Ashara does something she should have done a long time ago. She combines all the rumours she’s heard and all the news her brother has told her. The wedding was near nine moon turns back, at the Riverrun. Yes, she thinks, Lyanna has died from the child birth.

Brandon looks at her, his eyes wide open in shock. 

Perhaps, if everything has been different she would have spoken to him more tenderly, gently, she would have taken her time. But here, even if she appreciates the friendship of Brandon, she remembers the pain she has gone through because of that man. And here, she came for something else. She didn’t come for Lyanna or Starks. She has come for Elia’s children. For Dorne and all the Seven Kingdoms.

“Where is the child, Brandon?”

“How do you?-”

“Lyanna has told me, in her letter” - she cuts him off, not intending to waste the time any further. 

Brandon gulps, and she sees how big his shock is, for his hands start shaking a bit.

He has just lost his sister, thinks Ashara. She knows his pain. And, she doesn’t yet know why, but Brandon acts like they are friends. She thinks she can be his friend. Or at least try. Or at the very least, show him some compassion.

She takes his big hands in hers.

Minutely she wonders how the touch of them doesn’t do anything to her.

She says:

“I’m so very sorry for your loss,” - and her words are sincere.

“Thank you,” - he smiles at her. Ashara had never known Brandon Stark could look like that. Defeated. She leads him inside the room, and sits them both on the bed.

She waits for Brandon to do or say anything, but he just sits in quiet. After a while, Ashara lets her hands soothe his shoulders. It doesn’t have even a spark of lust. It is simple as if they are friends.

Maybe they are. 

While Brandon sits in silence, Ashara tries to go over her relationship with Brandon through his eyes. They had fun. And then they went back to their houses. She has written a letter to him, she wrote that she is with a child.

Only now she understands that Brandon has never received the letter. Could she expect anything else? She has seen the way Rickard Stark has been looking at her. Why would Warden of the North let his heir offend another great house?

Only now, when she sees Brandon defeated, and understands that he isn’t the malevolent man she’s thought him to be, but only a boy who was trying to play games, and thought her to be a player too. He didn’t intend to offend his betrothed, now wife, Catelyn. He hasn’t intended to hurt her either.

“Where is your wife?” - if everything she thinks of Brandon is true, Ashara thinks she can forgive him. She can even try to be what Brandon Stark has thought her to be a long time ago - his friend.

“She’s still there, in the Riverrun. It was too dangerous for Cat to travel North when she's pregnant,” - Brandon’s words are soft, his mind clearly wandering. Yes, Ashara thinks, we still have to talk about Lyanna.

“When is she due?” - but they can have some moments to acknowledge the world outside Lyanna and Rhaegar, and their child.

“Any time now. I’m waiting for a raven.” 

Ashara decides to wait. Brandon needs to decide himself when he talks about his sister with her. He needs to make that first step.

“I should probably go there, and come back with my child and wife,” - Brandon says.

“You probably should. Why didn’t you just wait there?” - it is easy to be pretending to be friends with Brandon. Maybe, she isn’t pretending. 

Here Brandon takes a pause.

He lets out the breath.

“Because Lyanna has written to me.” 

Ashara keeps silent. And, weirdly, her heart breaks for Brandon. Her poor wild wolf.

It isn’t too long when Brandon finally breaks the silence.

“Jon was born sennight ago. He is my bastard.”

It takes some time for Ashara to understand the genius of that plan. 

“Why?” - that plan fixes it all for her.

“It was Lyanna’s wish. She has said there could be a war if Jon’s real parentage was going to be known. Robert wouldn’t forgive Rhaegar. Dorne, too.”

What can she say? She sees so many things that could go wrong here. How will it be a secret? 

“Rhaegar will know.”

“I doubt it. I intend to legitimise Jon.” 

Legitimising the bastard might throw Rhaegar away. If the child doesn’t have the Targaryen look, it might work.

“And what of your wife? And your child"

“They will never know. But my first son will be my heir.” 

Ashara tries to think straight, but nothing comes to mind. It seems to be such a ridiculous idea, still. She doubts that it will work. But she can’t quite tell Brandon what exactly makes her think so.

She did something similar, didn’t she?

No one will ever know that Visenya Targaryen… She can’t think of it.

“Why didn’t you let Ned father Jon?” - she thinks of, at last. Ned isn’t a newly-wed. It would be easier.

Brandon looks at her for a very long time, and maybe even smiles a little bit. He still looks sad. But he will survive it, Ashara knows it. 

“Because I thought Ned wouldn’t ever get the courage to cross Westeros to get to Starfall to propose to you then.”

His words could have killed her. In some other life. Here, Ashara doesn’t know what to make of them.

**

Jon looks so much like Brandon, it is offensive. He looks like Lyanna. And like Ned. And like little Benjen. He doesn’t have a speck of Targaryen blood in him, or so it seems. He is as Stark, even as young as he is, as they can be.

Ashara thinks she envies Lyanna in that. That her blood was so strong that Rhaegar hasn’t gotten anything from the child to claim his. Weird, but Ashara thinks, Lyanna has won. 

**

Winter is too strong, and even the thought of the journey back is unbearable. Brandon insists they stay. 

But whenever Ashara sees Ned, and that doesn’t happen too often, for she hides from the quiet wolf, she wants to walk back, if she has to, through the harshest storm. Anything not to feel it all that Ned’s presence threatens to make her feel. Shame, longing...

But Arthur gets sick with fever, and for her brother she stays. She has never seen Arthur sick, but it seems that the Northern Winter has gotten even the Sword of the Dawn.

**

“Why did you name him Jon?” - if she isn’t with her brother, she tries to be around Brandon. 

Brandon sends little Benjen, who likes to join them on their daily walks, to go ahead. 

Ashara wonders if Benjen knows about Lyanna. He seems so mature for his age. Benjen is close to Allyria’s age, but behaves without the giddiness of her sister. Ashara wonders if it the mourning that matured the wolf-pup. Brandon has told her that Benjen was very close to Lyanna.

“Ned named him. We both decided it would be better this way. Cat might want me to send the child away, and so we thought Ned could foster him at the Valley.”

Ashara lets the sentence stretch the silence in front of them. She thinks that Brandon has probably noticed how she closes off whenever his brother is mentioned. 

“That is, unless his new wife would mind her husband raising a bastard,” - says Brandon, with a warmth in his voice.

Ashara keeps walking, her everything - empty. Little Benjen brings her some winter flowers, and she thanks him with a smile.

**

She stumbles onto Ned, when she leaves the chambers where her brother lays. Ned is about to go through the door, she is crossing it too, and they manage not to bump into each other by a thin line.

“Lord Eddard,” - Ashara curtsies.

Ned looks at her, his expression so open and easy to read. But Ashara has long since lost the ability to recognise such emotions.

She recognises only one thing in Ned - same pain that comes from the loss of the loved ones, that contours the features of every person she’s been near this year. Where grief rejuvenated Brandon, it aged Ned.

He looks at her with what is probably a mirror of her own face - he is seeking the change, his eyes go carefully over her.

“Lady Dayne,” - he bows back.

In all the days that she’s been here, she hasn’t talked to Ned. But what should she say? Their last talk was lifetime ago.

“How is your brother?” - Ned spares her from the misery. How their roles have changed.

“He is better, thank you.” 

They stand some more.

And it feels like a betrayal to Elia’s memory that Ashara finds herself unsure, that her mind unfreezes, that she thinks of everything about Ned…

“I must go,” - she runs away from it all.

“Yes, Lady Dayne.” 

It is hard not to hear the voice inside saying that in some other life, Ned Stark would not have called her “Lady Dayne”. She would not have been Lady Dayne.

**

Robert Baratheon comes soon with the happy news from the Riverrun. 

There has never been a man more unhappy while bringing such joy into the family.

Robert Baratheon looks defeated, even when he tells to Brandon that his heir is a healthy boy with a Tully look.

Ashara watches as if through the water how Brandon takes the wild Baratheon under his wing, as they both prepare to ride South - one to the promise of the new life in a wife and a child, and another back home, or any other place, but far from the mourning black North that stole his bride. One runs towards something, another from and away. And yet, there is something between them that allows them to connect.

Ashara thinks it is Ned that connects them. Both Brandon and Robert are similar in their grief, with their drunken songs, and tears falling so easily they could drown. And they can’t understand Ned with his cool composure, thinking it lacks the emotion, or grief, or pain. 

They both are fools to think that way, Ashara thinks, and with a great surprise finds a flicker of the past fire taking a breath inside her. It is no more than a moment, passed before she has the time to capture it.

But the ice inside cracks, even if a little, and she finds herself very glad to see the last night of Robert and Brandon in the castle.

Their mourning involves being loud, barely making sense. They both are children in their grief, who do not know how to handle it. And if only they were not so intent on pushing Ned away from their mourning song, Ashara would sympathy them. In fact she would understand such behaviour better once. But that was before she had to learn of the pain first-hand. 

But they are still Ned’s brother and Ned’s closest friend, so they are not cruel, not intentionally malicious. How can it be their fault that they understand each other, and not Ned?

This last day, Brandon is hopeful, he already thinks of his wife, of his son. He tells to Robert:

“I will name my son after you, I swear that, you hear me?”

And Robert drinks on that hope of the life continuing. For both of them are so full of life, how can they be destroyed for too long? He tells Brandon of his bastards.

“They could be my family, can’t they? I will legitimise one… His mother was a good one, she’s asked me for it. Right? You legitimised yours, why can’t I do the same?”

And she hates them for forgetting the past, for looking up to the future that isn’t tainted with pain. And she envies them. 

She and Ned… They do not have anything in the future to look forward.

**

The morning of Brandon’s departure, she seeks him out and finds in the stables.

“Came to say goodbye,” - she offers as excuse. 

Brandon smiles, as he ties some baggage on horses. Who can understand that man? They bedded together and now he is going away to his wife. They are friends. 

All that fire hadn’t allowed anything to spring inside Brandon, and spread the roots deep inside. Ashara thinks in that she is alike to him - she, too, is shallow. She doesn’t hold grudge at Brandon, for it is easier to be friends. 

But they both can still mourn the ones they loved, so Ashara doesn’t want to tell him about the child they’ve had. Because she doesn’t want to add anything to the pain he already carries.

What she came here is to know whether Brandon is capable of similar mercy. Not for her. But for Ned.

She’s cold, the day is just cracking and she has never been the one with the taste for mornings, so she just dives in.

“Have you told Ned anything about us? Does he know?-” - she knows Ned doesn’t know anything. Yet. What she needs to hear is the only answer she will take. 

She thinks that expectations have a funny spell they seem to have on the future. The future always misbehaves. Nothing ever goes the way it was planned, so she prepares for the worst - any other answer but the one she hopes to get.

Brandon stands tall, and looks at her, his eyes - incredulous. She hopes the incredulity isn’t born out of Brandon being surprised by her even expecting to keep a secret from his brother.

“No. I will never tell,” - Ashara receives the exact answer she needed to get.

**

Arthur gets better, and, weirdly, Ashara feels the strength returning to her as well.

And she decides to do something she felt the need to do a long time ago - she seeks Ned.

The Old Nan tells her he can be found in the Godswood, and that’s where she finds him, sitting near the biggest tree. The leaves are red, the only colour survived in the forrest in this winter. The face of the Old Gods disorient her. They seem wise. All-knowing.

This is the first time she has felt like a foreigner in her own country.

Ned notices her and raises, and Ashara calms a little. Even if she is a foreigner, she is a guest here, and with the undeserving warmth that Ned looks at her, she knows she is also a welcomed one.

She doesn’t know how to start the conversation with him, so she is grateful when he asks:

“How is Arthur?”

“He is better,” - she answers eagerly. - “Maester thinks that the most dangerous part has passed, he is on the way to recovery.”

“Good news.”

“Yes.”

Ashara wonders if their conversations were always this heavy, uncomfortable. They always lacked grace, Ashara thinks. Both she and Ned could never dance around the issues around them, clumsily threading and dropping the lines. Then how has she come farther along with this man than with the countless of others?

Ned tells her that she can sit with him, if she wants.

“Even if you don’t believe in the Old Gods, this place is pleasantly quiet.” 

“Thank you.”

And maybe with the silence that settles around them then, she can understand how it seemed possible for the two of them to fall in, to dream of living together. It is the quiet agreement that ties them up, that, perhaps, holds the promise of understanding that would be possible. They watch the world around them in silence.

The nature in the North is nothing alike to Dorne. It is quiet, seemingly dead, but after awhile in the silence she starts hearing the rustle of the leaves, the airy crack of the snow underneath some winter creature. The occasional breath of wind sends the snowflakes to perform their dance in front of them before falling down.

Ashara remembers the conversation she’s had in some previous life with her brother, when she was young and Uther became concerned for her. Gods know she doesn’t remember a single thing he’s told her then. But she remembers her swift answers - that it was her nature to go from fire and storm to the nothingness. It was a gift from the Gods to feel so much and to be so much, and she has told him if she were to get mad from this wild up and down ride, she wouldn’t choose any other way to go.

Ashara thinks that in all her long years of highest highs and lowest lows, she has never had the chance to see the small details that surround her. She can admit that compared to everything she has ever been carrying inside her body, whatever it is that this moment fills her with, is exceptionally boring. And who would have thought that boredom can be so full of life, and not the shallow promise of death?

As the sun sets lower, and the coldness takes over all, and the two of them wordlessly decide to head back into the castle, Ned falters in his steps. Ashara notices it, and stops too.

She has come here to explain everything, or as much as she can, so it would fair if Ned was to demand the answers. They do need to talk.

“There is a sept that has been built,” - the words that come out of Ned are not expected. She waits for something more. - “In case you… or your brother feel the need to talk to your Gods.” 

Ashara has to stifle a very unexpected giggle that threatens to bubble out of her. 

_Because me and my brother can only be saved by Gods_ , the reply, thankfully, doesn’t leave her. She waits for something else, so Ned is forced to continue.

“It was not built for you,” - and if Ned Stark isn’t the most eloquent speaker she has ever been around. Ashara thinks the only funny part is that Ned seems aware and embarrassed by the semi-offensive rant he unleashes on her. - “Well, Winterfell would need the sept anyway, since Catelyn Tully is coming here, and she prays to the Seven Gods.”

“I am sure Catelyn Tully would be very happy to have such a thoughtful brother.”

Ashara wonders if Ned can tell that she is teasing him, but it is hard to tell, since the blush was a long result from the coldness.

“If you feel the need,” - Ned Stark says his last words, ready to leave her, - “you or your brother would be welcomed.”

Ashara looks at Ned Stark, and wonders how can a man be that good. 

“Thank you, Ned. I will tell Arthur. We will give our prayers to mother that has shown her mercy on him.”

The shy smile that blooms on the face of Ned then gives her such warmth, Ashara is sure it would shield her against all the winters to come.

**

That night when she sits down with Arthur, she asks him:

“What did you think of the treatment that Uther wanted me to go through?”

There was a certain tone that Uther liked to use with her only, that made her feel like she needed to defence herself. He’s had a way to make her think there was something wrong with her. Ashara has never learnt to trust him. But Arthur was there, and she knows he remembers it.

Arthur was on her side then. He has never been the one to get sick, and much like all the people who have never been weak, has despised illness as a lowest form of weakness. He has stood for her, and has told Uther that there is no illness inside her.

And now when Ashara waits for the reply she remembers how in the childhood she and Arthur were so close, it almost seemed like there was a connection between them. Her brother and she were most alike out of all the siblings, they were closest of age, and then it seemed that Arthur was her male reflection. Ashara has learned that whichever changes she was going through, Arthur was going through something similar, whichever feelings she was having, Arthur could understand her the best, because he was feeling something similar. 

Years apart has stifled this connection, but Ashara knows that in the moment here, far from home, after the long illness that she has nursed Arthur through, everything comes back. And so the answer that Arthur gives her is the exact answer she craves to hear, is the answer she gives to herself.

“Sickness is something that always has to be treated, is it not?”

“What if the sickness is me?” - what is she without the dances and nights that send the stars dancing? Or without her fearlessness that is borne out of her punishments?

“It is not,” - Arthur says with a steel. He will be ready to swing the Dawn again, it becomes clear here. - “Everything that you think that sickness is… it is not. It is similar to my fever, when at night the blood was running hot, and at the day I was weakened.”

“What if I can’t dance or drink or make love without my blood hot? What if I can’t let life happen to me without me being weakened?” 

“Ashara, no! You will dance, and you will drink, and you will make love. Only your blood won’t be giving you the fever. And you do not need to be weak to let life happen to you. Maybe patient, or controlled."

“Everything that I am not,” - she smiles at Arthur, and he grins back.

“Well, you know, I couldn’t walk when I was down with fever. Does it say anything of my abilities to run?”

Everything with Arthur is so easy. Their conversation comes almost too comfortably, where Arthur sees through her, and Ashara understands everything he tries to tell her. 

“Uther is going to be ecstatic.”

Arthur laughs at her rolling the eyes.

“We can just never tell him.”

Ashara gasps, and says, mockingly scandalised:

“And keep a secret from our lord-brother?”

“Serves him right.”

Later at night, when they are quite tired with the jokes and laughter, Ashara lets the question escape her:

“It wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?”

And Arthur, half-asleep, still understands her, and assures her back:

“No, it wouldn’t hurt.”

**

The day before their scheduled departure, Ashara knows that she cannot delay the talk any further, and goes to Ned’s chambers. Ashara goes there late at night, because she has wonderful talents of dancing and pushing her responsibilities to last moment. She wonders if it is indecent for a lady to go to lord’s chamber at night. Oh, if only she was doing it for indecent deeds.

Her mind tries playing funny, but in truth, she is shaking, her knock on the wood comes to weak, so she is forced to repeat, all while thinking that surely Ned knows it is her, and does not want to talk to her, and…

Ned opens the door, and she all but jumps inside. Ashara is shaking so badly, she desperately needs to be near the fire.

“Dornish people are not made for Northern Winters,” - she tries to joke, but her voice comes too small. Ashara sits with a familiarity that can be offensive, that she doesn’t feel inside. She sits close to warmth. Ned looks at her, and smiles. She is a bit ridiculous, with a detachment notices Ashara. But the cold still shakes her, even when she feels her palms getting warm, and she looks up at Ned, grateful, when he places a quilt on her lap.

“I can make us a tea?” - offers Ned, and Ashara nods with all her might.

_It is weird how she didn’t feel that cold when she walked through the castle._

She watches as Ned hooks the kettle on the top of fire, letting the flames lick the iron.

“Did you receive any news from Brandon?” - the time has spewed her and Arthur out of the never-ending dance of life, but others were drawing figures, changing positions and partners, and since Brandon’s departure the moon begun it’s cycle anew.

“Yes, Brandon has honoured his promise to Robert and named the child Robb,” - Ned is amused, happy to be an uncle. _Again_.

“Did he mention anything about Catelyn’s feelings about Jon?” - Ashara wonders what her stand would be on a similar situation. Dorne has a different attitude towards the bastards, different from the rest of the country. And still, even in Dorne, legitimising the bastards was a rarity.

_How would Ned feel if his bride had legitimised a child that wasn’t his?_

“He hasn’t said anything of the kind. I think, he might still be gathering the courage to say it.”

Brandon Stark being afraid was a beautifully funny image.

“What is new lady Stark like?” - to inspire the fear in the heart of the bravest person Ashara has known? Brandon wasn’t afraid of Targaryens.

“Oh, she can be quite terrifying, I heard,” - Ned says it kindly, with an easy smile.

Ashara thinks if Ned likes Catelyn, she must be good.

“But I think Jon will go to the Valley with me. I could foster him there,” - he continues.

The pot clatters with the fiery dance of water inside.

“Since Jon is legitimised, he is going to the heir of Winterfell, is he not?” - Ashara watches as Ned removes the kettle from the hook and divides the boiling tea between their cups.

“Brandon and I have talked about it, we have decided that Jon’s birthday will come second, no matter what. Thankfully, the difference between the babes is only days, so no one will suspect anything. Jon was borne few days older, but will live as the second son, few days younger than his brother and heir.”

The second son. Catelyn Tully has surely heard of the King who was the fourth son of the fourth son. Jon is not going to be too far on the line to be the lord of the biggest kingdom in Westeros.

If Robb dies… 

But what a terrible thing to sit here and imagine the death of the child that has only begun to taste the life. Catelyn Tully’s son is going to be an heir, and then the Warden of the North. And Jon will be fostered at the Valley, under the care of Ned.

“Do you think this secret will break their marriage?” - Ashara wonders about the future of Catelyn, Brandon, Robb and Jon. About the future of Visenya Targaryen. All these has happened because of one mad man. 

“No. Why should it?”

“You have clearly never heard the songs. All the secrets of the past come to life, and destroy the lives of noble ladies and once-honourable knights,” - chuckles Ashara.

“I’ve never been a man with the taste for the songs,” - Ashara raises her eyebrows, suddenly curious as to what Ned has the taste for, but he continues. - “I always thought that life is very different from the songs.” 

“Have you now?”

Ashara wonders if what Ned has said is true. Rhaegar Targaryen is going to be praised in songs. But men like Ned Stark are rarely mentioned by them. 

And, more importantly, Rhaegar Targaryen is a man with the taste for the songs, and Ned Stark isn’t. Ashara wonders if that says anything about the nature of songs at all.

House Martell has kept it’s secret about Elia’s sickness to the grave, madness of house Targaryen that has touched Rhaegar has never come to light, allowing Rhaegar to be called the Dragon Prince. Lord of house Dayne doesn’t even know the biggest secret of their house. Who’s to say anyone will ever know Jon’s real father? There are so few people who know it…

She feels disconnected for the few moments. If only she could know that all the secrets were to remain kept… What would she do then?

The fire cracks, the tea leaves swirl inside her cup and she takes a sip, the fire warms her, and with the quilt on her lap, she sweats in her winter dress.

What would she do, were all the secrets buried?

It seems almost too easy. Ashara goes over her life and everything that she’s been through. She has had this wild desire, and so many partners. She bedded one brother and nearly accepted a proposal from another. She’s lost two children, one - still alive, but never hers. She has lost her dearest friend, and now she is here, in this castle where Lyanna’s ghost is still wandering through the walls, haunting those she touched during her life.

And yet.

Ashara knows that either she can give out to her past right now, and let it consume her, and take away everything from her.

Or she can try to live despite everything she has gone through.

Ashara thinks that it is her responsibility to let her past decisions haunt her. _People are dead_ , and maybe she could’ve been able to prevent it.

Gods know she is done with her responsibilities.

How ridiculous was it to think that she was preventing something terrible from happening. A war to tear this country. She is done with it.

Maybe Ashara doesn’t deserve it, but she is going to live on.

Or what was she going to do else with her life? Become a septa? 

_Jump from the Palestone Sword?_

“Do you remember the talk we’ve had in the Starfall?” - she intends to apologize, she has to. But… If she is to live on…

Ned nods, his expression suddenly blank from emotions. It is only a twitch in his hands that betray to Ashara the stuttering boy inside.

“Can I ask you why?” - her narcissistic nature wins. She will apologize. But, first, she has to know what was it that Ned has seen in her. What else she has apart from her wild fire or beauty. Because she has to have something to live on.

“Why what?” - Ned swallows. Ashara is cruel to him. She needs to end this talk, apologize and leave him.

“Why have you fallen for me?” - well, she is cruel.

Ned looks at her for a long time, and suddenly the shivers come back, and this time Ashara can’t make herself believe it is the cold that shakes her body.

“It started because you were so kind to Elia. Loyal. Everyone could see it. You were ready to fight anyone for her, even the prince…” 

Ashara’s eyes get a cloud over them, so she can’t exactly see Ned’s eyes when he says all of it. It is true. Her love for Elia is her best quality. Was her best quality.

She fights the tears, for now is not the time to lose her composure, and nearly misses the quiet words that Ned says next.

“I wanted to know what it would feel like…” - he doesn’t really end the phrase, just lets it hang, it’s weight ready to pin Ashara down to the floor.

She wanted to know what it would feel like to be loved by Ned. To live with it. She knows the end of the phrase. Because, unlike Ned, she still wants. 

Desire burns so intently inside her, she wonders how could she ever think she was never going to feel anything anymore. It is there as the biggest proof that she is alive, for she craves.

And she cannot have what she wants. Ned is right here, but they as well might be on the separate ends of this country.

She decides to let herself have that last moment, secretly wipes her eyes under pretence of looking intently into her cup of tea, and then lifts her face and drinks the sight of Ned.

His hair is thick and strong, curling a bit at the ends, seeing as Ned was too busy to cut them. His eyes are so grey she would gladly spend a lifetime finding the proper word to describe all the shadows in it, his nose looks as if it was broken before. His lips are chapped. She desires them. She goes over his bigness - his shoulders and calloused hands with long fingers. 

It is weird to want a man so much, and yet to feel like the desire is only the small part of everything else.

Ashara takes a breath, and says:

“I apologize, my lord. You have been most kind to me, and it was very wrong of me to send you and your sister home without giving you the proper explanation…” - she has to continue, but Ned interrupts her with:

“Well, what is the answer?” - he asks her both unsure, and jokingly. It takes only a moment for Ashara to understand that he is laughing more at himself than at her. As if because he thinks the answer is obvious…

But that is no more than a trick that her mind plays in the sudden vastness that blooms with one sentence.

Ned Stark is still waiting for her answer.

She freezes on the spot, the whole world freezes. Because those words stopped the entire word from it’s dance. Ashara thinks they lack music, they lack the shine of the stars, they lack everything in the world, they have to have everything in the world, because they are the greatest words she’s ever heard. 

When the air forcefully enters her and she takes the gasp that unfreezes her word, she doesn’t have the time to notice that the world hasn’t stopped. Because Ned Stark is about to say something, but she interrupts him.

“Yes. If you are still waiting, yes.”

She can’t even think over them, over anything she is saying, she is still thinking about the self-deprecating smile that Ned said the most important words with…

But they are true.

Ned Stark lifts his eyes on her, and the strength of his emotions is ready to crash her, but she doesn’t want to waste the time.

“Come here, Ned, come here,” - she begs him, outstretches her arms to him. And he comes and kneels in front of her, finally allowing her hands to touch him.

She leaves her palm on his cheek, and he turns to kiss her hand. There is the desire inside Ashara that wants for Ned to take her fingers inside his mouth, and suck on them. She wants the feeling of his tongue on her skin.

It would be very improper.

Ned looks up at her, same intensity from before. Ashara thinks that he has been hiding this from her. It is glorious to finally be swimming in the whole truthfulness of Ned’s feelings. It is also mind-numbing. Dizzying.

She wants to take his hands and kiss them, and suck on the skin there. Place them on her whole body. Undress herself and him.

She is a greedy thief, she reminds herself. She doesn’t truly deserve Ned Stark. Not after everything she’s been through. If she were to be truly good and explain everything about her to this good man, he would flinch from her, the mere touch of her would be repulsive to him. But what can she do about her nature? She got a way out, thanks to this man here - her secrets can always remain the secrets and nothing more. And how can she fight the desire inside her then? If she can take him, how can she not.

Ashara lowers and quickly touches Ned’s lips with her own, barely letting herself feel the hot touch, and the gasp that leaves Ned when she does it, or she will go mad with the sensations. 

Ned Stark wouldn’t like anything to be improper.

Until after the wedding.

She will be good. From now on, she will be good.

She lowers her hands from Ned’s face. Ned takes them into his. Ashara lets herself have that, at least. She goes over Ned’s hands, each touch sending a lighting through her. She can’t stop it.

Ned kisses them, and then looks at her. Something like adoration makes the way from the intensity. He watches her like she shines, and Ashara will never deserve this look.

His gaze travels a bit lower, to her lips, no more than a flicker of a movement. But there is such a wistful expression that Ned makes then, that Ashara just sends everything to hell, and kisses Ned again. 

She has to intention of making this kiss anything too big, her head is already swirling with desire as it is. But then Ned moans with the touch, and she can’t help herself lingering.

Their lips sway with the contact. Despite the temptation that Ned’s moan provided, with the hot breath and open mouth, Ashara only goes over his lips. She kisses them, nibs them a little, over and over again. All while Ned makes little noises with every touch, and his lips seem to be lost, he moves them without a thought, struggling to catch hers, without an idea of what to do. But his hands are still holding hers with such sure strength.

Ashara doesn’t know what to make of that man.

She will have the whole lifetime to figure him out.

The thought sends her giggling, and she has to take a breath anyway, so she moves back, but because Ned chases her blindly, stubborn, she gives out and kisses him chastely over the corner of the mouth, and then drops against the back.

The view in front of her, because Ned moved closer and is the only thing she can see… is breathtaking. Ned is opening his eyes, blinking so innocently, as if waking up, his breath comes out in puffs that she feels on her mouth. His skin is beautifully pinked. Ashara thinks that his hair are too proper. And her hands are tingling with desire to go over Ned’s curls.

She leaves out a small puff of laugh, and Ned smiles back at her. She wants him so much.

“I think it is better for me to leave, my lord,” - Ashara says, her voice so gentle it is barely recognisable. 

Ned tights the grip on her hands, and she sees how he starts to shake his head.

But then he rips his gaze from her face with such a forcefulness, like it is a hard thing to do, and looks down at his knees.

And then says:

“Yes, my lady.”

Ashara sighs and when she moves her legs underneath the unmoving Ned. And she can suddenly understand why Ned is not moving. It feels so good to know that Ned desires her, so, despite her promises to be good, she doesn’t move her foot.

She wants to be good for Ned, not for some people out there.

“Wedding would be such a long time from now, wouldn’t it?” - the most important part is knowing what Ned wants. The rest of world doesn’t matter. If Ashara can persuade Ned…

Ned chuckles.

“I’ll be alright, my lady,” - the words that have such an offhand confidence go in contrast with Ned’s red face. The heat of it fans on Ashara’s cheeks.

“I don’t promise that I’ll be,” - only the truth, Ashara thinks. 

Ned gulps, looking at her. Her want is probably visible on her face.

“W-we might… A child borne too soon…” - Ned struggles, but Ashara understands him.

She goes along her memory lane. It is easier to go over the night she tries so hard to forget, when Ned is holding her. 

The maester warning her that if she is to drink this potion to start the birthing early…

“I’m barren.”

The words fill the room, the castle, the North.

Ashara knows it is fair to expect Ned to call the wedding off. There will be no heir from their union. It is what Ashara deserved after everything, but it is in no way fair to Ned.

“Oh,” - Ned shakes his head, and then brings his hand to Ashara’s face. She leans into the touch, grateful for this. - “Are you alright, my lady?” 

Trust Ned Stark to worry about her, when it is him who was robbed.

“Yes, my lord,” - and she is. Ashara thinks that she always was alright with it. Who is she to be a mother, truly? But it still feels so good to have Ned ask her that. No one else did. - “Are you alright with it, my lord?” 

“Yes.” 

She doesn’t push it further. She doesn’t ask Ned how can he be that selfless and give out the dreams of children, of heirs so easily. If she were a better person she would have asked. But she marries Ned Stark only if she admits that she isn’t all that good. So she is ready to be the worst person in the world for that.

She looks at Ned, his gaze never leaving her face. How can she say no to this, even if she doesn’t deserve him. For however long the secrets will be buried, for however long it will take Ned to learn her and flinch away, she is too selfish not to take everything she needs from this world. 

Ashara, surprising even herself, leans down and hugs Ned. His response is immediate - he hugs her back with all his strength. She tightens the grip, and lulls them from one side to another. The moment here is one of those moments that she shares only with Ned Stark - of comfortable silence. Weightless connection between them feels like a promise, not a teasing disappearing peace.

They sit for long, or they sit for the smallest moment is impossible to know, for the time stops existing. Ashara worries about Ned’s uncomfortable position, and stands up, never letting him go. When they stand, their singular figure is so close to the figures dance partners would draw in Dorne, where dancing is so different in style. 

They sway in their steps, the music creates itself in little spaces between their bodies, and Ashara murmurs it, all so quietly. Ned hears it, and moves his head a bit closer to her, his hair pleasantly tickling Ashara’s lips. The song inside her lets the two of them dance their small dance. It is the first time she sings the melody inside her. 

Ned is still a bad dancer, but Ashara is a terrible person, so she forgives him easily. Her future husband can’t stop the movement, his head moving from one place to another, his idle lips, surely casually, touch her - her hair, ear, cheek. His nose pokes the corner of her mouth. Ashara looks him in the eyes, the grey of them melts into silver for it shines.

It only feels as natural as the next step comes in the dance, for both of them to steal each other’s breaths with the next sway of the steps.

Ned’s lips this time are not lost, Ashara thinks she can feel his resolution to be ahold of his nervousness. She would chastise him for that if she wasn’t so busy controlling her fiery desire to swallow Ned whole.

Instead she lets their lips to sway, the movement so slow and precise, it feels conducted. She learns every fickle of skin of Ned’s lips, their shape and movement are studied by her with the vigour she has never shown towards anything. 

It is Ned who moves them step forward, his tongue gently touch her lips, his hand on her face with the fingers opening her mouth. Ashara lets him inside, scraping the tongue with hers. It is Ned’s whimper that makes her lose the bits of her control, and she replies to that sound with her moan. And then draws Ned’s tongue inside with rhythmic sucks. 

Ned moves back, almost immediately, and she feels a pang of regret. She was too much, she is scaring him, she is improper…

But instead Ned just sits on the bed, and then draws her closer. 

“Come here,” - he whispers with urgency.

They continue their kisses, and Ashara feels how the restraint lines that Ned has drawn are slowly being erased, until his lips are a lost movement of nervous shifts. He moves them and moves, like he wants them everywhere at once, and Ashara gets so hungry with his unpracticed desire.

She moves him back until he falls onto the bed and then allows her to look at him. She wants to do so many things to him. She wants to do everything to him. All at once.

Her gaze moves slowly, nothing like her mind, until she settles on the place where Ned’s trousers are tenting.

“Is it your first time?” - Ashara’s voice is harsh. She would prefer not to waste the time, but she needs to know before choosing what to do with Eddard Stark.

He nods.

So she drops to her knees, feeling her mouth watering at the idea.

She only needs to get Ned off the edge, but it doesn’t mean she isn’t going to get her enjoyment. She mouths him through the material, and sees absolutely confused gaze of Ned. Well, confused and lost in the feeling.

“What’re you- doing,” - the sharp intake of breath when she undresses Ned interrupts him. But he, yet again, bravely marches forward, - “Ashara.”

The sound of her name leaving Ned’s lips makes her take him inside in one quick motion. He is dripping wet inside her, and she stops, getting used to the feeling of stretch. She wants to see Ned, but Ashara also wants to just stay where she is, with Ned’s desire filling her mouth. She looks up at him, which makes Ned moan and drop his head back.

Not seeing her, he continues with his little speech:

“Please, just come here,” - she lets go of the cock with an obscene bop, but she is in no hurry to lift up from her place. Ashara looks over the pink member in front of her, Ashara wonders if Ned always gets so wet when he’s hard, or if it is because this is his first time, and he is close to finish. She kisses the head, and hears Ned continue his mumble, - “Please, I’m going to-” - Ned is too good to say such bad words, Ashara realises with a good humour. The man has her kissing his cock and still wouldn’t say a word about his upcoming release.

“That’s the point,” - Ashara says the words close-close to the head, letting her lips occasionally shiver the tender skin there.

“I want to,” - Ashara fights the exasperated smile at Ned’s stubbornness, but she wants to hear what he has to say, so she places her head onto Ned’s hip, not touching his cock, so that Ned isn’t too distracted.

“I want to do it with you. The first time,” - he says, lifting his head, and asking her so eagerly. 

Ashara smiles. Everything has to be proper with Ned. 

“Alright,” - but not ready to let go so easily, she kisses his head one last time, inspiring the chortle from Ned. And only then she lets her hands spread over Ned’s chest, unlacing him from his clothes, fascinated with the shivers that run through him every time she lets her fingers linger on the opening skin.

Ned, apart from the goosebumps, is strangely subdued by the movement, watching her, as she watches his body unravel in front of her.

When she is done, because Ned is still laying down there, she steps backwards and undresses herself. Ned drinks her skin.

Has she ever thanked the Gods for her beauty? In that moment here, she is glad she is beautiful, that she can offer something easy for Ned’s eyes. But the look in his eyes seems to be telling her that he would feast on the sight of her, no matter the gifts from Gods. She thinks he might be seeing her, as she is. Just another human being.

Ned scoots higher on the bed, and she joins him on it. She crawls over him, until her face is close to his face. For all that they are close no one is touching another. Until Ned brings his hands to touch her hips, so tamed. The touch is a lighting.

Ashara drops her weight down, on Ned’s thighs, and then it’s all they can do - touch, touch, touch each other, as if they are to go mad if there is a skin unmarred.

She goes with her hands over everything in front of her, leaning into Ned’s hands that go from her spine to the reluctant touches on her bottom. She wants him to touch her harder, to leave the marks.

It is only natural for her to squeeze Ned’s leaking pretty cock inside her palm, and then lift herself up and guide it inside.

Ned’s hands finally tighten their grip on her, as he curses, while Ashara thanks the Gods.

She needs to take it slow, reminds herself Ashara. Ned is surely on edge. She feels how she stretches inside, it has been so long since the last time. 

Ned’s head is dropped back, the veins on his neck begging Ashara to bite them, and she does it. But she doesn’t move, just lets her lips graze the skin on Ned’s neck, shoulders, her hands to finally touch Ned’s cheek. Then go over his hair. She likes it already enough - to be filled with Ned. They don’t need to do anything else, just stay here in this position where they are one.

Ned moves first, his shift of hips seems involuntary. It still draws a meek whimper from Ashara.

That’s when Ned looks at her. The next thrust is deliberate, hard, all with the intensity that burns inside Ned as he watches her. He says her name. She gasps. 

Ned seems fascinated, his eyes all focused on her mouth, that releases embarrassing sounds with every long thrust of Ned. And he keeps calling her name.

Ashara thinks that it is Ned who should be on edge, not her, but with their current position, she feels her bud shifting against Ned’s skin, and it feels so good.

But this isn’t what she wants. She thinks in the strange focus of Ned, she sees the challenge, and she cannot let it pass, so she straightens up, and begins riding Ned.

Ned moans when she picks up his pace. She tells him how good he is, some obscene words leave her mouth, all while she goes up and down, quick. And to every phrase that leaves her, Ned moans back: “Ashara, Ashara,” until her pace begins to be so unforgiving, Ned’s all but chanting her name. He is so good. She tells him that. And she knows he isn’t going to last too long, so after a little while, she drops back onto his body, and deliberately repeats the shifts of her bud against Ned, hungry for her release, she moves faster and faster, until the rhythm is lost and she is just chasing her pleasure, mouthing at Ned’s chest until the release takes over her. She thinks she hears Ned go: “Thank the Gods,” and then he thrust inside her, as she lays over him, lets him use her for his own release, two-three times, and he comes inside, with her name on his lips.

When Ashara feels more aware, she drops away from Ned onto the bed, with Ned turning to face her right away.

Ashara imagines she can see the good inside Ned shining through. He closes his eyes, drifting away.

“So that was the first time, right?” - she can’t really stop herself from saying. Ned just chuckles.

“We could have the wedding in Valley?” - Ned says, half-asleep already.

Ashara touches his cheek, and answers:

“I would like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Come and chat with me @ anawfulybigadventure.tumblr.com


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